


Welcome to the Tour

by iMightBe



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: BMX, Carmilla the skateboarding lesbian, Dew Tour, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Laf is the best and Kirsch is a sweet manchild, Laura the smol gay bmx rider, Let's be real this is at least half smut, Oh well!, Skateboarding, Smut, action sports au, changed the rating to explicit, is anybody going to read this?, probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iMightBe/pseuds/iMightBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dew Tour is one of the biggest action sport competitions in North America. Laura Hollis never thought that she would get the chance to watch the competition in person, let alone actually be one of the competitors. She also didn't think that she would meet a flirty skateboarder and maybe sort of kinda fall for her.</p>
<p>Also, this is more about Hollstein than it is sport things, just saying.<br/> </p>
<p>COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laura

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first chapter of my little Dew Tour AU story. This chapter is basically just an introduction of Laura and Laf, but I swear the fun shit will be coming soon! Also, for those who aren't well-versed in the world of action sports terminology, I've tried to make everything as comprehensible as possible, but please let me know if there's anything I can help explain. Google and Youtube are also great resources if you want to know what a particular trick/ramp/thing looks like.

 

 

I squint as the bright sun reflects sharply against the array of shiny new ramps and metal rails in front of me; this course setup looks amazing, and it’s honestly taking all of my self control to keep from bouncing around and making an excitable fool of myself. I feel a calloused hand grip my shoulder and spin me around.

 

“Shit, Frosh, looks like we made it!”

 

I can’t hold back the little noises of happiness and general anticipation I let out, and quickly pull my best friend into a hug.

 

“Laf! This is unreal, I never thought that I’d see the day where  _we_ were the ones about to ride in the Dew Tour…”

 

“Well you better start believing, kid,” Lafontaine said with their notoriously toothy grin, “Because we’re here. And also, the women’s BMX streetstyle comp starts in like, an hour. So you should probably start stretching. Or at the very least—” they gently pry the half-empty can of grape soda from my hands, “start drinking water. We don’t need you getting a leg cramp when you’re half way down that twelve stair handrail.” 

 

I pout at the loss of my sugar-filled beverage, but wince at Laf’s imagery. Nobody wants to bail in the first round of a competition, let alone one as big as Dew Tour. This is especially true for me, being a first time competitor and newly sponsored amateur rider, while the bulk of my competitors were seasoned riders who had been on the tour circuit before. Fucking up that spectacularly would be a surefire way to eliminate myself from the game before it’s even begun. 

 

While I’m not usually an anxious person, the sight of the course in front of me, which is one part enticing and two parts daunting, is quickly turning me into one. The presence of some of my favorite riders, who eleven year old me could only dream about seeing, isn’t helping either. 

 

Thank god for Laf, though, they’re the only thing keeping me grounded.  

 

——— 

 

Lafontaine and I grew up on the same street in a suburb just outside of Toronto, two houses apart. We were the only two kids in the neighborhood that were around similar ages, Laf being roughly two years older than me, so naturally, we became friends. When I was ten, Lafontaine started to learn some tricks on their bicycle. I was impressed, to say the least. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how they went from cruising around the streets with me, to hopping into the air and doing a bunch of fancy maneuvers with their bike instead. They tried to teach me a few times, but my small frame, which was even smaller at the time, simply couldn’t achieve the same results; so by the time I was eleven, I stopped trying. 

 

I still remember the exact moment when things started to change.

— 

_I was outside on my front lawn watching a now short haired, 14 year old Lafontaine set up a rickety launch ramp out of four bricks and two pieces of dubiously sturdy wood. They’d been explaining how to do a 180 barspin when my house phone rang. I remember nodding along to what Laf was saying while also trying to listen in on the one side of conversation I could hear coming from my father inside the house. I was clapping at Lafontaine as they landed flawlessly for the fifth time in a row when my dad came walking shakily outside._

_Immediately, I noticed the tears on his cheeks and the way his eyes seemed to be void of any life._

_“L-Laura, sweetheart… I need you to sit down and listen to me— please…”_

_Lafontaine had noticed his presence as well, and they hurriedly dropped their bike and ran over towards us. It sounds stupid now, but that was sort of what cued me in on the fact that something was seriously wrong. Laf had been saving up for months to buy that bike, that shiny new BMX bike with the fiery red frame to match their hair… they’d never just drop it to the ground so carelessly like that, unless, of course, something serious was going on._

_They gripped me by the elbows and helped me sit down, my father knelt in front of me._

_“Honey, there was an accident… M-m-mommy’s gone.”_

_As he burst into tears, the only thing I could feel past the numbness that news inspired was a combination of Lafontaine and my Dad hugging me tightly._

_After the funeral, I didn’t leave my room for three months._

_Being homeschooled with a now deceased teacher kind of allowed for that._

_Eventually though, my dad realized that I couldn’t keep existing that way. I was enrolled in public school, and Lafontaine became my anchor once again._

_Four weeks after my enrollment, Laf did something that would become the most important gesture in my life._

_They walked up to my house, leading their new bike in one hand, and the old one they’d outgrown in the other. Unceremoniously, they rolled the old bike into my surprised, but welcoming hands._

_“So kid, I figure it’s about time we give this another go.”_

_———_

From that point on, I was hooked. Nothing really broke through the shroud of gray that’d been hanging heavily over me since the funeral like landing a new trick did, not Harry Potter movie marathons, not hot chocolate, nothing. By the time I was fourteen, I had an impressive array of tricks under my belt, including some that even the guys at the local skatepark, who were always  _so_  vocal about how much older and stronger than me they were, couldn’t hope to land. 

 

Lafontaine and I just had fun. We challenged one another. Laf was a genius when it came to creating new lines of tricks that both linked obstacles together seamlessly and were ridiculously technical, while I focused on the more, quote-unquote, ‘ballsy’ tricks. Big airs, big transitions, big rails, you name it. I hit them all, and with Lafontaine’s help, I managed to do all of it with a distinctly technical flair. 

 

By the time I was sixteen, I’d become a name to watch out for. Lafontaine had been competing in local shows for a couple of years at that point, so with their guidance, I began to enter them as well. Together, we were a force to be reckoned with. If the two of us entered a competition, there was no doubt that we’d be claiming the top two medal spaces, both of us usually competing against the other for gold. 

 

Things got more complicated as we got older, however. For me, it was my personal life, for Lafontaine, it was how their personal life interfered with their competition life. 

 

— 

 

I started to question my sexuality at a young age, but never thought much of it until I hit my mid-to-late teens. When the fact that I was clearly gay started to become more apparent, I went to Laf for guidance, as I did with most things. 

 

The fight that was happening in my mind was impacting my performance on my bike, and I knew that I couldn’t figure everything out on my own. There would be days where we would be riding at the skatepark, and I’d see an attractive girl, literally forget what I was doing, and ride full speed, head-on into the side of a ramp. I must have spent at least half of my savings on new wheel rims and handlebars the summer before I turned 16. 

 

It didn’t help that the community pool was right next to the park. Cute girls in bikinis are a serious threat to tiny gay BMX riders apparently, and well, I’m only human after all. 

 

There were also days that I wouldn’t get out of bed because I felt so sick to my stomach at the idea that I wasn’t ‘normal.’ Those days usually came directly  _after_  the days where I was particularly flirty with a girl, or vice versa, or when I’d spent too much time reading Harry Potter slash fics, and gotten way,  _way_ too aroused from it.   

 

Lafontaine didn’t judge me for anything though, they were my short ginger wall of unwavering support. Together, we worked through my inner turmoil. When I was seventeen, I came out to my dad. I couldn’t have asked for a better reception. 

 

Laf didn’t get off as easily, though. 

 

Unfortunately, as the age brackets increase in competitions, they also start to differentiate and divide male competitors and female competitors. 

 

Lafontaine came out to me as nonbinary when they were fifteen, and I supported them wholeheartedly during the time it took for their parents to come around to the concept. The thing is, competition judges didn’t care about how you identified, they cared about what your birth certificate said. Even though Laf continued to compete, I could see the spark of pain in their eyes each time an announcement for the  _women’s_  division for a comp came around. 

 

Lafontaine loved the discipline too much to let the gender binary hold them back from yet another thing though, and eventually, that dedication allowed them to rise to the top of the game, with me following closely behind. 

————

 

The sound of cheering pulled me out of my thoughts and focused my attention back on the park in front of me. The people in the stands surrounding the course are waving around various homemade posters to support their favorite skaters, and the crowd erupts once more as I hear the announcer begin to speak. 

 

Damn, I didn’t even notice that people were starting to warm up on the course in front of me.

 

“Alright folks, welcome to Dew Tour 2015! We’re about to start our women’s AM skateboard street competition. Each skater will have three 45 second runs, and whoever has the highest score from the combined three runs will be crowned as the winner of the competition. The top three skaters will receive the opportunity to advance onto the next leg of the tour!”

 

I watch as the competitors mill around the platform that leads to the first drop-in section of the course. Some of them are chatting amicably, others bopping their heads along to whatever rhythm is pumping out of their headphones, and one girl is standing off to the side, arms crossed and head leaning back against the railing. From what I can see, she’s got long, wavy black hair that she’s keeping out of her face with a backwards snapback, and other than the green of her hat, she’s dressed head to toe in black. Black cutoff tank top, black bracelets, black skinny jeans, and black low top sneakers. The sun shining off her pale skin is nearly as blinding as the rays glinting off the metal obstacles around her. I can’t help but notice how gorgeous she is, even from a distance.

 

My sight is pulled back to the announcer’s booth as he continues.

 

"Up first, we’ve got a fan-favorite; twenty year old Toronto native, Carmilla Karnstein!”

  

I’m leaning over the safety railing that surrounds the viewing section for other competitors even farther than I was earlier. I can’t stop looking. 

 

The crowd cheers again as the horn blows, signaling the start of the first run. With a confident smirk that almost seems as if it was aimed at me, the lonely girl that I’d been checking out just moments before throws down her board and kicks off effortlessly. Immediately, I’m captivated.

 

For the next 45 seconds, I don’t hear a single thing that the announcer says. 

 

 


	2. Carmilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Carmilla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I should also post Carmilla's intro chapter as well. To let you all get a feel for the story, or something. Also maybe I just wanted to post it already because you guys have been really sweet with the kudos and the comments and stuff. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.s. "AM" stands for amateur, as in someone who is not at the professional level yet.

 

Carmilla’s POV

 

One of your first memories is of riding a skateboard. In the memory you’re small, probably four or five years old. The board underneath your feet felt enormous, but the big hands braced underneath your armpits kept you steady. Safe. 

 

Your next memory of skateboarding takes place a few years later. You can’t be a day over eight, but you’re pushing your very own (shitty hand-me-down) skateboard around the basement of the group home, trying your best to keep up with the rapid circuits the older boys were skating around the perimeter. 

 

Those boys, mostly just hazy faces and names to you now, were the reason you started to skate. Foster care wasn’t a prime style of living for any of you, but the boys discovered their outlet after obtaining a handful of beat up skateboards from a donation box in the city center, and once you were deemed old enough, they helped make it your outlet too. 

 

You were an angry child, though some would argue you still are, so the aggressive all-or-nothing nature of skating was like a gift sent from the heavens to alleviate all that pent up energy and frustration. As you got older, skating became less of an outlet for aggression and more of a craft that you were actually  _good_  at, that you could continuously improve upon. 

 

When you were adopted a few days shy of you thirteenth birthday, you were handed what would become your most valuable possession as a parting gift. Your closest companion, Will, who was seventeen at the time and rapidly approaching the date he would age out of the system, along with a few of the other older boys, had pooled their meager savings together to buy you a skateboard. The underside of the deck was white, and tiny cartoon graphics of a black cat were scattered across it. You thought it was perfect. 

 

You can still remember clearly how Will had called out to you just before you walked out the front door of the home.

 

_“Kitty, wait up!” He jogged over to you, both hands behind his back and a wide smile on his face._

_You'd turned around and found him kneeling in front of you. You knew he was doing that to piss you off, you were finally tall enough for the gesture to be completely unnecessary. You rolled your eyes and he laughed._

_“Me and the guys got a little something for you, something to remember us by, alright?”_

_You nodded slowly and watched in silence as he pulled the board out from behind his back. It had a poorly tied bow wrapped around it, and a bunch of writing scribbled with chalk across the griptape. It took you a second of quick skimming to realize that the writing was more than just scribbles— they were messages to you, from your ‘brothers,’ so to speak, saying goodbye and that they’d miss you, telling you to remember them when you were famous and winning the X-Games._

_You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t say thank you. Instead, you’d just flung your tiny arms around his shoulders and held on tight for what felt like a small eternity._

_——_

Lilita, the woman who adopted you, insisted immediately that you refer to her as Mother.  

 

She wasn’t abusive, not in the traditional sense of the word. She was just… cold. Absent. 

 

You were provided with everything you needed, or everything  _Mother_  thoughtyou needed, at the very least. You were, and still are, grateful for the resources you gained access to through her. You're still surprised that she even allowed you to continue skating in the first place. Looking back at it though, you can see that she did so because it kept you out of her hair. At first, she didn’t want you going to the skatepark when you were still “such a young, impressionable girl,” so she hired someone to build a few ramps and rails and install them on a concrete platform in the backyard. Coming from a background where any piece of wood or piping you found was a blessing, having your own mini park was incredible. 

Then, when you turned fourteen, you'd grown sick of being cooped up alone in the yard, so you snuck off to the skatepark while Mother was in some kind of business conference. When she’d found out that you'd left later that day, she was furious. You couldn’t leave the house for two months.

 

Her punishment plan backfired slightly, though. Being restricted to the house meant that, well, you were  _always_  around. The original stipulations of your grounding were that it would be a six month ordeal; apparently, you were unbearable enough to be ‘released’ in two. 

 

So you started going back to the skatepark. It was where you met Kirsch, a giant puppy of a boy. 

 

Your first impression of him was less than stellar.

 

He’d launched up the quarter pipe you were standing on, probably trying to show off, but miscalculated his speed and angle, and wound up landing ass-first with a thud on the ramp’s deck, right next to you. His board missed your head by an inch. 

 

Instead of apologizing for almost maiming you, like a normal human being, he proceeded to ask for your number and call you “hottie” at least fifteen times.  

After you'd turned him down he just stood up and shrugged at you with a grin. He said something along the lines of  _‘it’s cool little hottie, we can just be bros!’_  


 

And  _that_ is how you met your best friend.   

 

You two got closer over the years spent tolerating his presence at the park, and by the time you were sixteen you had to begrudgingly admit that you enjoyed his company. 

 

You didn’t understand how much you truly needed him until you were seventeen, a few days before your 18th birthday. 

 

The short version of the story is as follows: Mother came home a day early from an overseas conference and caught you in a compromising position with one of the girls that hung around the park occasionally. You'd tried to say that nothing was going on, but it was difficult to hide the truth of the situation seeing as your face was buried between the girl’s thighs when Mother had walked in. 

 

You knew you were gay by the time you were fifteen, but you also knew that Mother’s opinion on homosexuality was unfavorable at best, so you kept it on the down low. Lilita’s opinions couldn’t keep you from acting on your inclination, however. You'd never had trouble with getting the girls you wanted, and usually, it was a quick and stealthy affair. It just so happened that this time you had let your guard down, and you got caught. 

 

Mother’s disappointment was to be expected, but you didn’t anticipate her anger. Or that she would give you till the end of the night to pack your belongings and leave. 

 

Kirsch welcomed you, your three duffle bags, and your skateboard, with open arms. 

 

His small studio apartment was a far cry from the lavish home you’d grown accustomed to, but for once in your life, you felt comfortable. You got a job at the skatepark, mainly just making kids sign waivers and yelling at the occasional prick who refused to wear a helmet, and used that money to pay your half of the rent. It was strange, you actually felt like an adult for the first time ever. 

 

It was working at the skatepark that got you onto the competition scene, actually. The park had to advertise local contests, which meant putting up flyers, and you don’t know about anybody else but after four hours of mindlessly handing out and taping up posters, you'd finally spent a minute to see just what you were advertising. You'd never really paid much attention to the posters and promotion signs hung up around the city and at the skatepark, but maybe if you had you would’ve realized that you could’ve been making money off of your passion a little earlier. 

 

Regardless of that, you entered every single contest, jam, and competition you could find. Much to your surprise, sponsorships from local businesses and teams started coming left and right. 

 

While skating had never been about recognition or money to you, it sure as fuck didn’t hurt that you were starting to get both. 

——————————

 

And that brings you to the present. Toronto Dew Tour, Women’s AM Series. Also known as, The Biggest Competition Of Your Fucking Life.

 

Standing up on the huge deck of the first drop-in section with the rest of the competitors, you think that you probably appear to be smug, or a loner, or a combination of the two, really. The truth is, you’re trying hard not to freak the fuck out. 

 

Kirsch had jokingly offered you some Xanax before you were called onto the course, and now you’re kind of kicking yourself for not taking him up on that.

 

You know you can skate. You know that you're fucking  _good._ But you also know that you're currently standing next to some of the best female skaters that you'll ever meet, and that, being the newest competitor, you're up first. 

 

You hear the announcer begin his spiel, but try not to let his words keep you from getting in the zone. 

 

“Alright folks, welcome to Dew Tour 2015! We’re about to start our women’s AM skateboard street competition. Each skater will have three 45 second runs, and whoever has the highest score from the combined three runs will be crowned as the winner of the competition. The top three skaters will receive the opportunity to advance onto the next leg of the tour!”

 

A new wave of nerves crashes over you. So much for being unflappable. You look up and stop fiddling with your bracelet as you hear your name being called, as well as a shocking amount of the audience  _cheering?_  


"Up first, we’ve got a fan-favorite; twenty year old Toronto native, Carmilla Karnstein!”

 

You shake your head to clear it and try to focus back on the run that you have planned, and in doing so, catch sight of a cute girl with dirty blonde hair tucked beneath a bright blue beanie leaning over the support railing of the rider’s overlook. She’s staring back at you. 

 

Your nerves dissipate into thin air. Hmm. That was strange. 

 

You vaguely register the blare of the starting horn, so you throw a smirk at the little cutie in the beanie, drop your board, and push off. 

—

You speed down the first quarter pipe and get your feet into position, crouching slightly. Angling yourself at a slight diagonal to the 12-stair in front of you, you wait for your timing to hit that sweet spot, and kick off the ground as high as you possibly can. If you don’t pop high enough, you know that either your feet or your board will clip the handrail that runs down the center of the stair set, and you'll be fucked. It’s muscle memory as your feet complete the necessary movements to send the board flipping and rotating perfectly to complete a hardflip, and you're cheering internally as you spot your landing and realize that yeah, you cleared the fucking big stairs,  _over the handrail,_ no less, with a trick that even some of the male pros couldn’t pull off during practice. 

 

You're too focused on what you're doing to hear the crowd and announcer erupt at the perfect landing, so you pump your way over the next few obstacles to gain momentum, throwing in a few little tricks for bonus style points along the way, then use that speed to ollie up from a launch ramp onto the second level of the course. The upper level is about six feet higher than the flat ground, and it has a series of rails and ledges separated by stairs and inclines that lead back down to the ground. You choose the wide ledge at the right side of the course, bend your knees, and ollie. You spin to the right until you and your board are perpendicular to the obstacle, and stomp down on the nose of the deck as soon as it makes contact with the ledge. You slide smoothly, with your back turned towards where you'll soon be landing, and spin off of the ledge as soon as you feel it start to end, landing on solid ground with only the smallest bit of shakiness. 

 

The announcer yells  _“Karnstein lands a_ solid  _backside noseslide 180 out on the big ledge!! I’m sure the judges are loving this run!”_  


You know that you've got a high score in the bag at this point, so you finish up your run with a few smaller tricks, careful not to get overconfident and try something that’ll make you eat shit and ruin it.

 

You're gliding back up to the starting deck as the ending horn blows, trying not to be too obvious about your panting and the grin you're suppressing. As you turn around to face the crowd, you receive quite a few ‘congrats dude!’s and slaps on the back from the other skaters. You glance up and see the cupcake from before going  _fucking nuts_ for you, clapping, bouncing around, and cheering her pretty little head off. That sight boosts you up more than anything else ever has.

 


	3. Laura's first run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Laura competes in the Dew Tour for the first time and Carmilla is a giant flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone that's reading this little story, you're all the best!
> 
> Also, just for clarification: each chapter will switch between Laura and Carmilla narrating, using 1st person POV for Laura and 2nd person POV for Carmilla. Hopefully this format isn't confusing, let me know what you think, though.

 

It takes Lafontaine literally holding me down with both of their hands on my shoulders for me to stop bouncing around like an obsessed moron after Carmilla’s first run. 

 

I’ve always enjoyed watching skateboarding, and I’ve given it a try a few dozen times, all with little to no success, but I’ve never been as amazed with the discipline as I am right now. 

 

Hogwarts must be real, because there’s no explanation other than magic that can make sense of how well Carmilla Karnstein just dominated that course.  _Or_  how well Carmilla Karnstein pulled off those criminally tight jeans, but I’m trying not to focus on that. Or the way I could see the sides of her bra through the gaping sleeve holes of her top every time her arms were raised. Like I said, magic.

 

Talented, sexy, magic. 

 

The judges must agree with me, the talented part, not the sexy part… although some of them might agree with me because I mean  _look_  at her how could you not— wait no stop. Bad Laura. 

Luckily, my internal ramble-and-scold finishes just in time to see the score for Carmilla’s first run. 

 

7.4

 

That’s ridiculous! Nobody scores that high on their first run, especially in the women’s competitions— which is something that I could but won’t take the time to rant about right now. I’ve got bigger things to be worrying about than feminism in the world of action sports. Plus, Carmilla got a 7.4!!!

 

Within seconds, Laf is once again busy trying to keep me from leaping over the railing towards her and expressing just how impressed I am a little more up close and personal. 

 

God, I’m gonna need a cup of cocoa or five if I’m not able to calm down. Or maybe a Xanax. I can’t compete like this. 

 

Oh fuck! I’m competing in like, half an hour, and I completely forgot!  

 

As much as I’d love to spend the next ten years of my life obsessing about the virtual stranger that is Carmilla, I’ve worked far too hard to jeopardize my chances by being too distracted by hormones and  my general overwhelming gayness to ride. 

 

With as much willpower as I can muster up in my tiny body, I grab Laf by the arm and drag them towards the BMX warmup area.

 

Once I get to the designated area, which is essentially just of a cooler full of water bottles underneath a pop-up tent in a parking lot near the BMX street course, I begin to stretch. 

 

Inevitably, my thoughts go back to the broody skater from earlier. I try, I really do, to focus on deep breathing and running through my mental map of what I’ve got planned for my turn in the competition, but it’s fruitless. 

 

I can’t help but let my mind wander back to what I’d just witnessed. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why this girl was stuck so stubbornly in my head. It’s not like I’ve never seen a hot girl before. I’ve seen plenty! Maybe it’s just because I’ve never seen such a hot girl skate? Who knows. 

 

Right now though, with fifteen or so minutes until I, fingers crossed, go kick some ass on the course, I’ve gotta get into my hyper-focused-on-BMX-and-not-cute-girl’s-asses mode. 

 

I whip off my beanie and run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit that Lafontaine never fails to poke fun at. Screw them, though, they’ve ridden in big competitions before, I’m allowed to be nervous, plus, they’re riding in the BMX park-style contest anyway. Their comp is tomorrow afternoon, so they’ve gotta be nervous too. 

 

“You alright L? You’re looking a little… greenish…”

 

I just nod back at them, knowing that if I open my mouth all that’ll come out is a jumbled blob of nerves. 

 

They grab me into a tight hug and slap me on the back a few times.

 

“Listen to me, Hollis, you’ve got this. I know you do. So you just need to go out there, bust a few huge tricks, and show everyone that your scrawny little ass is nothing to mess with!”

 

Even though I give a small shout of protest at my ass being referred to as ‘scrawny,’ I return the hug with a grin and squeeze them back even tighter. 

 

“Thanks Laf, I needed to hear that.”

 

They release me and throw me a wink, “Obviously, frosh, they don’t call me a genius for nothing.”  

 

“Laf, they  _don’t_ call you a genius. I don’t even know who ‘they’ are.” 

 

Waving their hands in a dismissive manner, Lafontaine replies “Details, Laura, details. Now go make sure everything on your bike is spic and span, your comp starts soon!”

——

 

After I’ve checked and rechecked that every part of my bike is in good working order, retied my shoes, and adjusted my beanie half a dozen times, I’ve got nothing else to do but sit on the low bikeseat and drum my fingers along my bright yellow handlebars. 

 

The announcers are going to start the competition momentarily, and even though I  _should_ be worrying about the fact that I’m the first to ride, I, surprise surprise, can’t avoid comparing my situation to Carmilla’s. I’m the newest rider in the competition, meaning that I go first— which, sidenote,  _thanks for that, judges—_ and I’m starting to worry that my results won’t be nearly as good as hers. Doing a quick time calculation, I come to the conclusion that the women’s street skate competition should be over by now. I wonder if Carmilla won? If she even medalled? Either the other girls would have had to’ve been really,  _really_  good, or she would've had to mess up spectacularly for her to not get first or second place. 

 

I wonder if she’s going to watch this contest. 

 

Before I can even contemplate how pathetic it is that I’m actually getting a little sad from imagining this complete stranger not wanting to watch my competition, the announcer gives a static-filled greeting. 

 

While he explains the contest rules, which are more or less the same as those for the skateboarding comp earlier: three 45 second runs, highest total score wins, yada yada, I take the time to survey the course in front of me once again.

 

It’s a fairly similar layout to the skateboard course, but the obstacles are slightly bigger, and there are more big ramps and gaps than there are stairs and rails. Plus, the obstacles are laid out in a way that demands a more particular path be taken, there isn’t as much room for variation as far as lining up tricks goes. I know this means that I’m gonna have to rely on my creative style and my tendency to go big if I’m gonna get enough points to win. That suits me perfectly. I’m starting to finally feel the adrenaline buzz through my veins when I hear my name being called, and the distinct sound of Lafontaine shouting “YOU GOT THIS, FROSH!” from the crowd. 

 

  
_“Our first rider is one of the newest up-and-coming names in the BMX street scene! Nineteen years old and hailing from a suburb just outside Toronto, make some noise for Laura Hollis!_ _”_   


 

I take three deep breaths, then the starting horn sounds. 

 

—— 

 

Pedaling hard, I ride parallel to the lip of the first quarter pipe. I banish all distractions from my mind, and jump into my first trick. I start with a big hop into the ramp, throwing a quick barspin before my tires meet wood and send me speeding towards my next obstacle. 

 

It’s a simple five block, which is similar to a stair set, only larger. The size is equivalent to like, maybe a twelve stair, so I’m not overly concerned. A ten foot drop is nothing to me at this point. 

 

Giving a few quick pedals, I swerve towards the five block and jump, pulling my bike up tight against my body and letting the momentum from my previous swerve, along with the rotation of my head and shoulders, spin me in a clean 540. I stick the landing with a good amount of speed, leaving me riding backwards, something that, according to Laf, the judges love, and look over my shoulder to make sure I’m in line for my next trick. 

 

Being a lefty means that my pegs, or the things that my Dad calls ‘those-metal-tube-bits-that-stick-out-of-your-wheels-and-let-you-slide-around-rails-with-no-concern-to-your-father’s-mental-wellbeing,’ are on the left side of my bike. 

 

I approach the obstacle, a long handrail that leads down a smaller stair set, riding backwards with my pegs facing away from the rail. Once I’m close to the stairs, I jump up and spin quickly until I’m parallel to the rail once again, this time with my pegs on the correct side. I threw another quick barspin while I was halfway through my 180 onto the rail, and I’m feeling confident about this trick. 

 

However, things get a little shaky when I make contact with the railing. I’d intended to do a simple double-peg grind, but I feel my front wheel about to overshoot its intended landing spot, so I pull up on my handlebars before I can completely eat shit, and, with the grace of god and muscles from riding and ten years of Krav Maga, manage to icepick grind the entirety of the rail. 

 

I can’t help the relieved smile that spreads across my face. Not only did I  _not_ just completely wreck myself, I pulled off a harder grind as well! I’m honestly a little bit surprised I was able to keep my balance on my back peg the entire time, but I’m not about to question it now, especially because I’ve just finished working through the smaller series of ramps and rails that I could get technical on without too much thought, and the final big obstacle is quickly approaching. 

 

It’s a big, and I mean  _seriously_  big, fly box with at least a twenty foot deck between the ramp I’m launching off of and the ramp that I’ll, fingers crossed, be landing on.   

 

I pedal hard as I approach it, knowing that if I can just nail this trick then I’ll be in line for a good, dare I say  _medal worthy_ , score. 

 

I get to the top of the launch ramp, tuck and angle my head and shoulders, and fly into the air. The 360 is the easy part of the trick, it’s the double tailwhip that I have to really focus on— Laf had been helping me learn it in secret so I could pull it out during this competition. Using the momentum of the spin, I kick the bike from underneath me, holding tightly to my handlebars and jerking them slightly to help the frame rotate, and keep my feet out of the way as my bike completes two full rotations before I slam my feet back onto the pedals to catch the trick. I’m finishing the last few degrees of the 360 as I get back on top of the bike fully, and seconds later, I’m spotting my landing, touching down, and riding away smoothly. 

 

The horn goes off as soon as I get back to the deck of the quarter pipe I had started from, and I don’t hear anything besides my heartbeat pounding in my skull. 

 

I did it. 

 

I, Laura Hollis, just completed my first-ever run at  _fucking_ Dew Tour, and didn’t mess up. 

 

My hearing comes back abruptly and then I’m surrounded by exclamations of ‘congratulations' and 'great job’s. I quickly turn my head towards where I know Lafontaine is located in the stands. Their grin is probably just as big as mine, and they shout something indecipherable and give me two thumbs up. I notice that they keep darting their eyes and trying to subtly point their head towards a spot behind me. I eventually get the cue and turn around. 

 

There, standing casually against a support beam in the designated competitor’s viewing spot, is none other than Carmilla Karnstein. 

 

She’s staring at me with one eyebrow raised and an impressed smirk, clapping lightly. 

 

I see her mouth something at me, and I’ve gotta be wrong, but did she just mouth the words ‘nice one, cupcake?’  

 

I blush. She grins. 

 

I can’t tell if that grin is predatory or sincere. Maybe both. Oh god. 

 

I’m still staring at her as her head jerks up towards the judges table, and I realize that they’re about to announce my score. 

 

  
_“That was one impressive run from Laura Hollis, and it earned her a… whoa! 6.9! Our newest competitor has_ really  _set the bar high for this contest!”_  


I hear more cheering from the crowd, namely Laf, and I snap my head back to look towards Carmilla. She’s smiling at me… softly? But when she see’s that I’m looking at her again, she turns the I’m-equal-parts-seductive-and-proud grin back on. This time I see what she mouths at me clearly. 

 

Her eyebrows wiggle up and down as her lips move smoothly, ‘sixty-nine, eh?’  

 

I blush redder than a box of tomatoes covered in red paint, left out to dry, then dunked in red paint again. 

In other words, god damn my face is on fire and I must look like a massive dork.

 

Carmilla appears to laugh softly at me before readjusting her snapback, winking, and sauntering off. 

 

I shake my head to clear it. 

_Alright, Laura, you’ve just gotta make it through these next two runs, and then you can spend all the time in the world overanalyzing and hyperventilating about whatever just happened between you and Carmilla._

 

I glance at Lafontaine, and they just give me the ‘rock on’ hand sign and wink at me ostentatiously, clearly trying— and failing— to mimic Carmilla’s parting gesture.  

 

I roll my eyes at them and flash a quick middle finger. They stick their tongue out, and I just know that they’re gonna have a  _lot_ to say once this contest is over. 

 


	4. Carmilla meets LaHollis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Carmilla is still a flirt, Laura is still a dork, and Laf and Kirsch are the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the fourth installment of my Hollstein action sports AU, I hope you guys enjoy it!

 

 

It surprises you that you're standing where you're standing, doing what you're doing. 

 

You've never really cared for BMX, never had an interest in watching it or any inclination to try it, honestly. It had always just seemed like a bunch of muscle-heavy brutes whizzing around on tiny bicycles.

 

But this is… different? Somehow, watching this little beast of a girl completely dominate the course surrounding her is actually entertaining. No, that’s not the right word for this. It’s intense, your focus is entirely on her. On Laura.

 

Laura Hollis. 

 

When the announcer said her name you got butterflies, for fuck’s sake. The feeling was unsettling, unfamiliar, and most definitely unwelcome. 

 

You pride yourself on being able to maintain an air of detachment. If you don’t connect, then there’s no possibility of experiencing the pain that’ll come from the inevitable breaking of said attachment. 

 

That’s why you're honestly kind of disgusted with yourself for feeling this way. Carmilla Karnstein  _does not,_ under any circumstances, get ‘ _butterflies_.’ 

 

Yet, here you are, feeling those winged, fluttery bastards even more intensely than before. 

 

You can admit that when you first saw the girl during your first competition run, you were interested pretty much instantaneously. But who could blame you? She’s cute, there’s no denying that, but there was more to it than just the initial physical attraction. Something in her eyes pulled you in. 

 

Curiosity, maybe? Understanding? 

 

That pure, butterfly-enabling look of adoration and excitement she had at the end of your run was electric. 

 

You'd be lying if you said you weren’t a little bit sad to see her leave, tugged away by her little ginger friend with the goofy smile. 

 

Maybe you can justify your current actions, those being gripping the railing in front of you tightly and feeling like your heart is in your throat as you watch the cupcake nearly miss the rail she's trying to grind, by claiming that you're just repaying the favor. 

 

She watched you, so you'll watch her. 

 

You don’t need to think about the fact that you went out of your way to actually ask someone for directions to the soonest BMX contest, just because you'd noticed that she’d had a bike with her and was standing in the viewing section designated for competitors, and maybe you kind of sort of a little bit really wanted to see her again, and a bike competition made sense for her possible whereabouts. 

 

You don’t need to think about the way that your chest seemed to tighten and your face began to pull into a smile when you saw her sat on her bike with the other riders, fiddling with her beanie in a way that was entirely too cute. 

 

And you  _really_  don’t need to think about the way your throat went dry and heat started to pool in your stomach as you watched her flip her hair to the other side of her head and stretch in a way that pushed her chest out and emphasized the musculature of her arms. 

 

Nope. Not gonna think about it. Not at all. 

 

You're so busy not thinking about it, in fact, that you almost fail to notice that her run is coming to an end. 

 

You're definitely not thinking about it when you two make eye contact and you flirt shamelessly with her. And you can be damn sure that you're not thinking about it when she blushes at your innuendo and you saunter off to pretend like you're  _not_ about to keep watching from a corner where nobody can see how invested you're getting in this stupid contest. 

——————

 

Laura won. 

 

Not that you're surprised, not a single other rider was able to beat the 6.9 she got for her first run, let alone compete with how she managed to get similar scores in her following two.  

 

To say that you're impressed would be putting it lightly. Understatement of the year, really. 

 

You're fucking awestruck, wowed, blown away, astonished, etcetera. Any one of those expressions can pretty much sum up how you're feeling right about now. 

 

Taking a series of deep breaths, you step out from behind the bleachers you'd been watching the contest from and walk towards where Laura and her redhead are jumping around and squealing excitedly. The scene is so sweet that you're not sure if you want to grin or vomit. 

 

You do neither, obviously. 

 

Instead, you settle for readjusting your hat, adopting an ‘I know something you don’t know’ smirk, and clearing your throat to get their attention. 

 

Laura spins around automatically. As soon as she sees you, her grin gets wider and her cheeks flush red. You just continue to smirk and will your face not to follow in her footsteps.

 

“Congrats, cutie, that was some impressive riding out there…”

 

You pause slightly between the words ‘impressive’ and ‘riding,’ taking a moment to look her up and down and wink. She blushes harder and her friend elbows her not-so-discreetly. 

 

“Uh, th-thanks…” 

 

“Carmilla,” you supply helpfully.

 

“Thanks, Carmilla,” the way she says your name is heavenly. “I saw you skating earlier, you’re pretty…  _impressive_ yourself.”

 

You grin, this girl is gonna be fun.

 

“Well thank you, nineteen year old Laura Hollis from the suburbs of Toronto,” you say, repeating what the announcer had stated earlier.

 

You continue to watch in amusement as Laura’s blush spreads to her neck.

 

“Who’s your friend?”

 

Laura seems to snap out of whatever daze she was just in, and spins around quickly to gesture towards the aforementioned friend. 

 

“This is my best friend, Laf—” 

 

“Lafontaine, they/them, pleasure to meet you.” The ginger cuts Laura off and sticks out a hand. You shake it without hesitation, you’ve always appreciated people who don’t beat around the bush. 

 

“Likewise, are you competing as well, or just watching?” 

 

“Both,” they say, "I’m competing in the BMX park event tomorrow, so for now I’m just a spectator and a truly phenomenal source of moral support.” 

 

Lafontaine is wearing a shit-eating grin, and Laura is steadily turning redder. 

 

“You sound like a good friend, ginger-biker. Laura must be lucky to have you.”

 

You’re not sure where the sincere words come from— seeing as your typical M.O. is being as rude as fucking possible— but you don’t regret saying them. It’s almost nice to see the two friends make eye contact and smile. 

 

“You’re damn right, I’m a catch!” They say, haughtily, “although, I’m sure Laura would be more than pleased to  _have_ you instead.”

 

You can’t help but laugh, hoping that it draws the attention away from the subtle blush that’s threatening to set up camp on your face.

 

Laura is too busy gaping at her friend to say anything, which leaves room for you to reply.

 

“Oh believe me, Lafontaine, ‘pleased’ doesn’t even  _begin_ to cover it, I’m quite the catch myself.”

 

You wink. Laura gapes. Lafontaine struggles to keep in their laughter. 

 

Eventually, the red velvet cupcake manages to form words. 

 

“Alrighty now!” She says with what must be her best ‘I’m going to cut your tongue off’ voice. She even stamps her foot a little for emphasis. Too cute. 

 

“If we’ve finished speculating about you and I having— a-a-about  _that,_ maybe we could, oh, I don’t know, change the topic??”

 

“Suit yourself, cutie, I find it to be a perfectly  _delightful_ topic.”

 

Laura goes back to gaping and stuttering, so Lafontaine intervenes. Even though they don’t seem particularly interested in doing so. 

 

“So anyway… you won your competition, right Carmilla?” 

 

You nod, realizing that yeah, you actually got first place at the fucking  _Dew Tour,_ and you hadn’t even been thinking about it. You were too busy thinking about other things. 

 

Other things with a nice ass and plump lips and bright eyes. 

Oops?

“Are you pumped to go to the next leg of the tour, then?”

 

Huh? Oh, you’d forgotten about that. The top three from each competition move on to compete in the next tour stop, and if you keep getting in the top three, you go to the finals. 

“Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about that yet. Now that I am though, fuck yeah, I’m stoked.”

 

Just then, you feel yourself being lifted into the air and swung around by strong arms. Kirsch. You’d almost forgotten that he was here with you, skating in the men’s vert contest tomorrow.

 

“Wilson, if you don’t put me down right fucking now, I will make you regret having skin.” 

 

You say this as evenly as possible, even though you’re both aware that you don’t actually mind his affection. 

 

It  _is_ totally ruining your reputation as a suave badass in front of Laura and Lafontaine, though. 

 

“Carmsexy! You got the fucking gold!” 

 

“I’m well aware of this, Kirsch. But thank you for reminding me.” You make sure to say this all in a slow drawl, attempting to regain any shred of aloofness that you’d built up earlier. 

 

Kirsch looks around with his standard confused-puppy face, probably wondering why you’re being so standoffish. Then he spots the other two. 

 

“Hey, sexy ladies—”  

 

Lafontaine cuts him off with a slight grimace, “They/them. Sexy  _lady,_ not  _ladies.”_  


 

Surprisingly, Kirsch rolls with it and doesn’t need a repeat lesson. 

 

“Sorry, sexy lady and redhead bro,” you roll your eyes, Kirsch continues to speak. Unfortunately. “My name is Kirsch,  _not Wilson,”_ he side-eyes you, you smirk and raise an eyebrow, “who are you two?”

 

“Lafontaine, BMX park. Nice to meet you,  _Wilson.”_  


You grin, another point for the ginger. 

“I’m Laura… uh, Laura Hollis, BMX street…”

 

You notice automatically how her voice has lost the peppy tone that was present moments before, and when you look at her, you’re surprised to see that she looks… defeated? Forlorn, maybe?

 

“So,” she continues, “are you Carmilla’s boyfriend?”

 

Ah. There it is. 

 

She thinks your taken. She thinks your  _straight._  


You try not to laugh. 

 

“Dude I wish! Carm is way too gay to date me, believe me, I’ve tried.” 

 

You laugh, and Lafontaine stage whispers to Laura, “See Frosh? Gay. Told you so.”

 

Raising your eyebrows at them, you can’t help the smug grin that appears on your face as Laura turns a shade of red that you hadn’t thought possible. 

 

Really, she’s outdone herself this time. 

 

“What he said, cupcake, even if I was straight, I still wouldn’t date him,” Kirsch interrupts with an angry ‘hey!’  

“No offense, puppy, you know you’re like my brother.”              


 

This seems to placate him, if his rapid nodding and happy shrug are anything to go by. 

 

It seems to placate Laura as well, because now she’s giving you a shy smile and scratching at her shoulder embarrassedly. 

 

“Uh, yeah, I am too…” Laura offers up hesitantly. 

 

Well that information is nothing new. It’s nice to hear it confirmed, but also completely unnecessary. You decide to play dumb.

 

“You’re what too? Like my brother?”

 

Lafontaine laughs and Laura rolls her eyes. You just tilt your head to the side in mock confusion while Kirsch eyes the two of you repeatedly, trying to figure out the dynamics of the situation. 

 

“Ugh, seriously Carm? I’m also gay. Like super-duper hella fucking gay. Just in case you were, uh, you know, like, wondering or whatever…” 

 

Laura trails off, her sentence going from a whine, to a ramble, to unsure, all in a matter of seconds. 

 

“ _Carm,_ eh?” 

She blushes, you grin. 

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, cutie— although I would be more than willing to help untwist them— I already knew you played for my team.” 

 

Laura looks genuinely confused, “What? How?”

 

You and Lafontaine scoff at the same time. 

 

“Really cupcake? Most straight girls don’t stare at my ass while I’m skating. Or my tits while I’m talking.” you say, with a smug, tell-me-I’m-wrong grin and a pointed stare. 

 

Lafontaine doubles over in laughter as Laura goes back to doing her dangerously-red-goldfish impersonation. You saunter over to her, quickly crossing the five or so feet between you until you’re able to whisper into her ear. 

 

“Don’t worry, Laura—” you’re pretty sure she lets out a small gasp when you say her name, “I’m very much alright with the staring. Feel free to continue… In fact, let me know anytime if you’d like a closer look.” 

 

Yup, she definitely gasped at that one. You’re honestly surprised that you’re even able to muster up the whole seductress persona right now, thankfully you were able to tame down the blushing mess that you were before. 

 

“Maybe we could arrange that in the future,  _cutie,_ ” she says. 

 

And now it’s your turn to gulp, because whoa. 

 

When did Laura-the-tomato become Laura-the-tease?   

 

You take a deep breath and hope your voice doesn’t come out as gravelly as it usually does when you’re turned on. 

 

“It would be my pleasure. Literally.” 

 

You take a few steps away from her and shoot her one of your trademark smoldering looks. She just smiles back at you, her eyes noticeably darker than a few minutes ago. 

 

Turning around, you see your overgrown man-child and the ginger exchanging mobile numbers. You catch the end of whatever Kirsch was saying.

 

“Hell yeah, dude, we can totally chill while our lesbians get their mack on!” 

 

Lafontaine cackles, Kirsch grins in a way that clearly says ‘unaware,’ Laura covers her eyes and groans, and you just try to ignore those god damn butterflies. It’s easier to ignore them when you’re concentrated on trying to push down your growing arousal, anyway.

 

Laura is just starting to pull her hands away from her face when you speak.

 

“Solid plan, Wilson, solid plan.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

 


	5. Mild panic and introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Laura is insecure and Danny has no chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm not going to be able to update on Saturday, so I'm posting this chapter a little early. Hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Also, thank you so so so much for taking the time to read/give kudos/comment/bookmark/etc., it seriously makes my day 10000 times brighter.

The last two days have been insane. My time has basically been divided into five ‘neat' sections: riding, watching friends compete, hanging out with said friends, hanging out with Carmilla, and thinking about Carmilla.   

 

If I’m being truthful, the ‘thinking about Carmilla’ section kind of overlaps all of the others. I can’t help it though, it’s like she’s inserted herself into my brain, and no matter what I do to try and stop thinking about her, it doesn’t work. 

 

Admittedly, I haven’t been much effort into the whole 'get her out of my head’ thing. I like her there. It makes me feel all kinds of warm and tingly when I think about her smile, or the way she grins at me and how it’s somehow different than the way she smiles at Kirsch and Laf. I feel decidedly  _more_  warm and tingly when I think about the way her eyes have a tendency to rake up my body, and the way she bites her lip and breathes deeply when she thinks I can’t see her. And the things she says. God, she deserves a fucking trophy for the way she can make me absolutely melt at her words without ever saying anything explicitly sexual. 

 

That’s one of the issues with this whole situation, though. 

 

I’m me, and Carmilla is… well, she’s Carmilla! We exist on different planes; I occupy the land of might-as-well-be-a-virgin-nerd, while she seems like more of a perfect fit for I’m-actually-sex-on-legs world. 

 

I’m just not sure if I can keep up with her, you know? 

 

Most of my social interactions are chock full of me embarrassing myself, and she’s so smooth that she could be with anybody she wants. So when is she gonna get bored of me? 

 

We’d spent all of yesterday together, watching Kirsch in the skateboarding vert contest first, and Lafontaine in the BMX park comp after. By some kind of miracle, the two of them both medalled, which means that the four of us are continuing on to the next tour stop in Vancouver, which I’m half thrilled, half terrified about. 

 

Even after Carmilla’s straightforward words two days ago, where she more or less invited me to come over and fuck her, which, side note, I’m not sure how I stayed upright during that conversation, nothing has really ‘happened’ between us. 

 

At least, not in  _that_ way. 

 

And I’m not complaining, honestly, because if all that Carmilla is looking for is a quick one night stand, I’m not interested. 

 

Okay that’s a lie.

 

Obviously I’m interested in anything and everything that has to do with me and Carmilla getting horizontal, preferably on a bed with no clothing, but rushed hook-ups aren’t really my style. 

 

We had, in my humble opinion, a great time together yesterday. We talked, Carmilla told me a little bit about her upbringing, but I didn’t push for details because she seemed hesitant to even mention it in the first place. I shared the same, with her returning that curtesy. God, we talked about so much; likes, dislikes, hobbies, favorite movies and music, all of it. I’m pretty sure I talked about Harry Potter for at least a solid hour. 

And she didn’t leave!  

 

What surprises me is that Carmilla seemed just as excited about talking with me as I did with her. There were quite a few instances where she would just look so,  _so_  invested in what I was saying, or so passionate about whatever opinion she was expressing at that moment, that I feel like we  _have_ to have some kind of deeper connection. 

 

I know I’ve only known the girl for like, three days, total, but there’s just this pull that’s telling me that we could be something big together… that we could be more than friends or fuck buddies. It’s like my gut knows that we have the potential to be life-altering. 

 

Unfortunately, my gut is  _also_ saying that I’m no match for Carmilla. And it’s not even like I have low self esteem! I know people find me attractive, and I’ve been told that I’m fun to be around like,  _at least_ twelve times. Even though Carmilla was openly flirting with me, and then being genuinely friendly, I can’t stop thinking that I’m not the type of girl she would want. 

 

Which, if that  _is_ the case, fine! Well not fine, because I’m kind of already crushing hard, but you know. I’m not gonna alter myself just to fit into the mold of what some devastatingly beautiful girl deems desirable. 

Because feminism. 

 

It’s right there, as I’m pacing around behind the main BMX course and muttering various empowering feminist mottos, that Laf finds me. 

 

“Whoa there, L, who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

 

I stop my pacing and whip around to glare at them. They’re my best friend, and I know they mean well, but I’m already on edge and feeling entirely too frazzled to deal with their teasing right now. 

 

“I didn’t eat cheerios this morning, for your information. I had a donut.” I deflect.

 

Laf just raises their eyebrows, one of which is thinner than the other due to some garage-welding gone wrong, and gives me the look that I know means ‘cut the shit.’

 

I groan, “Fine! I really like Carmilla and we get along great but I don’t think she likes me like how I like her and she’s too sexy and charming to ever be with a girl like me because I’m a nerd that nobody wants to date and she’s just gonna get bored—”

 

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Lafontaine cuts off my high speed rant, “Sorry Frosh, but you’re kind of  _really_  oblivious sometimes. I see the way Carmilla looks at you, and she makes it so fucking obvious that she wants you that even Kirsch can get it!”

 

“Well if it’s so ' _obvious that she wants me’_ then why hasn’t she made a move?!”

 

Laf sighs and gives me an unimpressed look. 

 

“Christ, Hollis, have you given any thought to the fact that you guys pretty much just met?” 

 

“Yes! But—”

 

“No buts! Seriously Frosh, maybe she hasn’t ‘made a move’ because she wants you to be more than just a quick fuck? Apparently you haven’t noticed, but that girl is actually kind of a massive dork around you.” 

 

Wait what? I agree with everything else that Laf is saying, but the words “dork” and “Carmilla” should never be in a sentence together without an “is not a” thrown in-between. 

 

My silence clues Lafontaine in on my clear lack of comprehension. 

 

“Laura, you probably didn’t notice this, but Carmilla watched your entire competition—”     

 

“No she didn’t! She left after my first run, I saw her walking away…” 

 

Chuckling lightly at the way my eyes must have glazed over from thinking about  _that_ particular interaction, Lafontaine continues. 

 

“Uh, nope. She did her sexy-strut-away-from-Laura thing, which you obviously witnessed,” they smirk, “but she didn’t leave.”

 

I give them a skeptical look and silently urge them to hurry the fuck up and explain. 

 

“Dude, I watched her walk away from the viewing deck, and immediately duck into a corner where she must have figured nobody could see her,”

 

“That doesn’t prove anything!” I interrupt, because, really. 

Lafontaine gives me another unimpressed look.

 

“As I was saying! She ducked into some corner near the bleachers, proceeded to blush her ass off and grin like a fucking nerd, and then pretty much stare open mouthed at you for the rest of the competition.” 

 

I feel my cheeks heating up. They have to be wrong. 

 

“Laf, that’s bull—”

 

“I may have even seen a fist pump—”

 

“No fucking way—”

 

“Plus I  _definitely_  saw her carving ‘C+L 4 LYFE' into a nearby tree—”

 

At this point I do the only thing I could do. I jump on their back and cover their mouth with my hands. 

 

After a moment of struggling I hear a muffled ‘alright alright!’ and hop off their back. 

 

“Okay L but seriously, that girl is just as interested as you are.” 

 

Dropping down to sit cross legged on the asphalt, I yank off my beanie and cover my face with it, groaning again. 

 

A second later, I feel Laf sit down beside me.

 

“You know, I talked to Kirsch about it.” 

 

I turn to glare at them so fast that I may have acquired whiplash. “YOU WHAT?”

 

“Chill! Kirsch might come off as a bit of a dumbass, but he’s actually turning out to be a sweet, trustworthy dude.” 

 

My heart rate calms down slightly. “Fine, whatever… what did he say?” 

 

Laf looks far too smug at my sudden interest.

 

“He told me that Carmilla doesn’t date.” 

 

I feel my heart sink. Perfect. 

 

“And that usually she meets girls, says a few words, gets in their pants, and leaves.”

 

I’m not sure if I could feel any worse right about now. 

 

“And that he’s never seen her show so much interest in anything or anyone, like, ever, as she did with you. He said it was like a whole new side of her, something about never seeing her get so close to breaking her broody-seductress facade?” 

 

Well this is an interesting development. I’m pretty sure the emotional roller coaster I’ve been riding for the past half an hour has given my brain and heart whiplash too. Also, Kirsch knows the word ‘facade?’ 

 

“So you see, it's nothing to get all worked up about!” 

 

Something tells me that Lafontaine’s words are far from the truth. I just haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet. 

——————————————

 

Laf and I had a quick lunch after our chat, and as soon as I finished eating I set off to explore the vert ramps. One of the things I love about riding is that it clears my head, and right now, I really needed to do just that. 

 

I finish securing my elbow and knee pads and clicking the straps on my hemet together, because hello, this halfpipe is like 15 feet tall and bike safety is important, and get ready to drop in. 

 

I’ve ridden vert ramps before, but they’re hard to come by, so I’ve always stuck mainly to street riding. It’s fun though, it feels like flying, and it gives me ample time in the air to practice my bigger tricks and flips.  

 

I ride for about ten minutes, getting completely immersed in what I’m doing, and I don’t notice that I’ve gained a spectator until I’m slowing down and hearing an unfamiliar voice say “Wow, that was a ballsy flare you just pulled. Nice.” 

 

I grin at the compliment, because yeah, it was a  _really_ solid flare, which is basically a backflip with a 180 degree rotation, and I managed to do it higher up in the air than I ever had before, so I’m feeling pretty happy with myself. 

 

I turn around to thank the stranger, and come face to face with a very,  _very_  tall ginger girl. I’m not sure if I’m more preoccupied with her height or her beauty, but naturally, any semblance of conversational skill I once had vanishes into thin air. 

 

“Uh-uhm, thank you!” 

 

She walks closer to me and I realize that I’m probably embarrassingly sweaty, so I attempt the quickest damage control in history and start wiping away any stray drips that I can feel. Coming to the conclusion that my hair is nowhere near salvageable, I whip my beanie out from where I had it tucked in my back pocket and quickly pull it over my head.

 

“No problem, I’m Danny, by the way. Danny Lawrence.” 

 

She sticks out her hand and I grab and shake it without thinking, grimacing immediately when I remember that I’d literally  _just_ been using that hand to wipe sweat off my forehead. 

 

“Oh crap I’m so sorry! You must think I’m disgusting—”  

 

“Hey, it’s fine, really!” The girl, Danny, laughs. “I’m a vert skater, I’m used to sweat.” 

 

I blush and apologize again, then promptly run out of anything to say. I don’t know why this interaction is feeling so… unnatural?  

 

“So… what’s your name?”

 

I smack my forehead. 

 

“Shit, I’m really out of it today… Sorry! Uh, Laura Hollis, it’s great to meet you!” 

 

I say this as sincerely as I can, but I’m not really enjoying the way that she’s standing so close to me and staring down at my mouth.

 

“Laura Hollis? I recognize your name… oh! You just won the BMX street comp, right? Congrats!” 

 

I smile, feeling a little more comfortable. 

 

“That’s me! Uh yeah, thanks, I’m surprised you recognized me.” 

 

She takes another step closer to me and boom, there goes that comfort I was just starting to feel. 

 

“How could I not? You were the prettiest girl out there.” 

 

She gives me what I assume is supposed to be a seductive smile, and I kind of grimace in return. 

 

“Uhh—”

 

“I’ve always wanted to try BMX, maybe one day you could…  _teach_ me?”

 

Yeah, I’m sure _that’s_  what she’s actually interested in learning. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to come up with an awkward reply by the girl I’ve been thinking about for days. 

 

“Cupcake! I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

 

I take a hasty step away from Danny and turn to grin at Carmilla, but my grin falters slightly when I pick up on the tension between the two girls. Also she’s wearing deliciously tight pants that look like they’re… leather? Oh god.  

 

They speak at the same time.

 

“Who’s your gargantuan red buddy? Did you water Lafontaine?”

 

“Uhm excuse us, Morticia, who the hell are you?” 

 

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. Ohhhkay? 

This is weird.

 

Carmilla doesn’t bother to answer Danny, instead opting to ignore her completely and talk to me directly. 

 

“As I was saying, I’ve been looking for you, cutie, we’re about to get our room assignments for the rest of the tour.” 

 

I see Danny visibly bristle at Carmilla’s pet names. Carmilla’s smirk means that she’s received her intended reaction.

 

“Room assignments? I should come with you guys, I got first place in the vert skating contest, so I’m on the tour too.” 

 

“No thanks, agent orange. Plus, vert competitors don’t get there assignments for another hour.” 

 

Without another word from either of the girls, Carm grips my wrist lightly and leads me away. I throw Danny a wave but she just scoffs and turns away. 

 

Well that could have gone better. 

———————————— 

 

Carmilla holds onto my wrist with that light but deceptively firm grip for the entirety of the time it takes us to get to where room assignments are being announced. It didn’t occur to me at any point during the walk that it would have been far easier to carry my gear and push my bike along with two hands instead of one. 

 

I’m trying not to look too far into that ten minute period of what quite possibly might have been Carmilla’s possessive side coming out. I’m also trying not to think about the fact that I liked it.

 

We get to our destination with a few minutes to spare, seeing as only a handful of the other competitors that made it through have already arrived, so I prop my bike against a wall and sit down, using our connected limbs to tug Carmilla with me. 

 

I didn’t purposely aim for Carmilla to wind up sitting so close to me, but I’m sure as hell not complaining. 

 

“So…” she drawls in that way I’m growing to adore, “Your 'friend’ seemed… nice.” 

 

I laugh at her obvious disdain for the taller girl, and honestly, yeah, I’m not too thrilled with Danny either. There was something about her forwardness that was off putting, not to mention the fact that I’ve already got my sights set on the girl sat beside me. 

 

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. She asked me to 'teach her to ride sometime,’ which was even less subtle than you usually are.” 

 

…Shit! I did  _not_ mean to say that. Fuck, Carmilla is gonna think that I’m not into her, fuck fuck fuck. Okay Hollis, you can fix this, just keep talking!

 

“You came in at the perfect time, saved by the bell wearing leather pants, you know?” 

 

I turn towards Carmilla and find her blushing. 

 

“Well cupcake, I’d like to think that I’m  _far_  more charming than that overgrown fire hydrant… you’re welcome though, you know I’m always happy to help.” 

 

She winks at me but her words sound genuine, so I’m guessing she isn’t offended by what I said. 

Thank god. 

 

“Oh believe me, Carm, you’re entirely too charming for your own good.” 

 

After I say that, I bump my knee against hers jokingly. I’d planned on returning it to its previous position, but at the initial contact Carmilla scooted closer towards me, effectively connecting us from hip to knee. 

 

I duck my head and smile, and decide to girl the hell up for once. 

 

Casual as can be, which is to say, not casual at all, I flip over the wrist that she’d been holding so my hand is palm side up, and slip my fingers between hers. 

 

She gives me that shy smile, the one that seems like it shouldn’t belong to someone so confident but also like it was always meant to be there and was just waiting for a reason to come out. 

 

Neither of us say a word as I lean my head against her shoulder and she runs her thumb back and forth across my hand. 

—————————————————————————————— 

 

Well, the results of our “random” room assignments are surprising, to say the least. 

 

I’d figured that I would just room with Lafontaine, seeing as we’re used to being around each other all the time, and that Carm would be with Kirsch, because they literally live together. 

 

However, the vert competitors, like Kirsch and Danny, for instance, are staying at a hotel closer to the facility with the big ramps. 

 

Lafontaine wound up being assigned to room with a girl named Lola Perry, who I’m pretty sure does BMX racing, and if the immediate look of attraction on Laf’s face is any indication, I’d say that they have no qualms about this setup. 

 

And it seems like the world has a sense of humor, because who do I get paired with? 

 

None other than Carmilla Karnstein.      

 

            

 

  

 

         

 

        

 

   

 


	6. Roommates, eh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Carmilla has a dream and Hollstein rides doubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope everyone had a wonderful Valentines day, if you're into that kind of thing. I wasn't able to update on Saturday, so I'm giving you a chapter today instead! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Partially NSFW, just saying.

You think for one fleeting moment that perhaps meddling with the room assignments wasn’t exactly the smartest move you’ve ever made. 

A little aggressive suggestion goes a long way, apparently. 

But then you feel Laura’s face stretch into a grin where she’s resting against your neck and you realize that no, this was a good idea. 

Brilliant, even. 

——————————————

 

_She’s using her hips to pin you against the wall while her hands cup your breasts roughly. You feel her smile against your lips at the pathetic whimper you let out when she twists your nipples between her forefingers and thumbs._

_“Fuck cupcake, keep doing that,” Your voice comes out whiny and low._

_She tugs your bottom lip into her mouth before continuing her movements, only she’s pinching harder this time. Your hips buck up into hers and your groan is inhaled in her gasp._

_Fuck._

  
_Suddenly her fingers leave your nipples, but you can only be disappointed for a moment because her hands are quickly replaced by her mouth. The noise you make when she simultaneously nips at your chest and trails a finger along your fabric-covered slit is entirely too high pitched to_ not  _be mortifying._  


_She giggles against your chest and you use the fact that your hands are buried in her hair to your advantage, tugging her face away from your tits and crushing your lips together instead. She stops laughing._

_When one of her thighs slips between yours you automatically grab her ass to pull her tighter to you, grinding down mindlessly as your eyes roll back in your head._

_“Hmm… impatient much, Carm?”_

_She presses into you harder and lets you rut against her for a minute, then one particularly forceful lift of her thigh causes your head to drop against her shoulder and gasp. You can already feel how ridiculously fucking wet you are, and you know she can too. Her hands go back to playing with your nipples, which are almost painfully hard at this point._

_“L-Laura, please...” your breathing is heavy and forming words is difficult, but you want her to know how much you need her right now._

_The pressure her thigh was providing against your clit disappears, as does the sensation of her fingers on your chest, and you open your eyes._

_The look she’s giving you is pure sin. You honestly didn’t think she had it in her. For once, you’re loving being proven wrong._

_She steps back and pulls your soaked boxer briefs down your hips, and a few movements later, you’re completely naked. You smirk as her eyes widen and she inhales sharply. You wonder if she can smell your arousal, and you figure that she probably can because she’s staring at your pussy like its one of the great wonders of the world while her blush is spreading down her neck and painting her chest red. You chuckle, and the noise causes her gaze to lift up and meet yours. Her eyes narrow and she gives you a playfully challenging look._

_“Don’t give me that smug little smirk, Karnstein, you’re the one who was making a mess on my thigh just a few minutes ago. You’re practically dripping…"_

_You rub your thighs together and yeah, she's right, because you can feel your wetness spread across the insides of your legs and really you want nothing more than for her to be fucking you right now._

  
_“Big talk, cutie, but I can think of a_ much _better way to occupy that smart mouth of yours.”_  


_She blushes harder and rolls her eyes. It makes you smile._

_Then she’s dropping to her knees in front of you and your smile is replaced with an open-mouthed gape._

_She grips your hip with one hand, and the other pushes your legs apart before trailing up your slit once again, only this time there’s no barrier between her skin and yours. You fail to hold in a whimper._

_She runs her nose up your inner thigh, stopping once she gets to the crease between leg and center. She places a kiss there. Then another, and another, moving slowly across your mound until her lips are stationed just above where your labia splits and your clit is hidden._

_She looks up at you, and if you weren’t so fucking desperate for release you'd crack a joke about how your pubes almost give her the illusion of a mustache._

_Then her tongue darts out and quickly flicks at your hood and nothing is funny anymore._

_“So Carm,” She says conversationally, like the taste of your arousal isn’t currently playing across her tongue, “Enlighten me, what was your idea that's ‘so much better’ than talking?”_

  
_She’s grinning up at you so you buck your hips towards her face to try to get rid of that infuriatingly adorable smile and replace it with something more conducive to you_ finally  _getting off._  


_She pulls away and tuts at you._

_Like, actually fucking tuts._

_Who even does that?_

_“Pelvic thrusting isn’t an answer, sweetheart. Try again.”_

_You groan. This girl is gonna be the death of you._

  
_“Laura Hollis, if your tongue is not in or around my cunt in the next ten seconds I will light everything you love on fire—” your empty threat is cut off by a guttural cry. It takes a second to realize that_ you _were the source of the noise._  


_She’s thrown one of your legs over her shoulder, spreading you wide and exposing you completely, and then she’s flattening her tongue and dragging it up between your drenched folds and lapping insistently at your clit._

_As much as you want to make this last, you know you’re too far gone for that to even be a possibility. Laura seems to know this too, because after a few hard licks from your entrance to your clit, she sucks your bundle of nerves into her mouth and pushes two strong fingers inside of you._

_You cry out wordlessly and throw one hand up to cover your face while the other tangles itself in her hair, pushing her face into you and encouraging her to suck harder, which she does with a moan. The vibration of it has you clenching around her fingers, and you think you hear her mutter ‘so fucking tight’ around your clit, but honestly your pulse is pounding so loudly in your ears that you can hardly even hear the lewd wet noises of her fucking your brains out, so you couldn’t be sure._

_Her hand on your hip moves to grip one ass cheek tightly, and she uses that leverage to bury herself further into you. She curls her fingers and you cry out in a pitch that you don’t think you’ve ever hit before._

_“Laura! Fuck!”_

_She groans and slows her thrusting down, but starts pressing into you way harder than before and you can’t contain the whine that you make each time her bottom knuckles push against your folds and her fingertips press repeatedly at the spongy tissue inside of you._

_“Mmm fuck, come for me, Carm…”_

_And you’re about to, you’re so fucking close you can taste it, but then you feel her start to poke repeatedly at your collarbone and suddenly nothing makes sense because Laura only has two hands, and they’re both occupied._

_“Carm.” poke. “Carm.” poke. “Carm come on wake up—”_

_—————————————————————_

You jolt awake and it’s quite possibly the most unpleasant experience you’ve ever had. But then you realize Laura is straddling you and you think maybe it isn’t so bad. 

 

She continues to poke at your chest, less demanding now that she sees you’re awake, but pokey nonetheless. 

 

“Come on sleepyhead, we said we’d meet up with Laf and Kirsch at the main park today, remember?” 

 

You go to reply but her hips shift slightly against yours and you’re reminded of your current situation, i.e. you’re gonna come in your pants if she moves again. You let out a squeak instead of actual words, and you’ll deny it to your grave if she brings it up later. 

 

With more force than probably necessary, you shove Laura off of you and roll out of bed, nearly sprinting to the bathroom.

 

“Gotta shower, sorry creampuff!” is all you shout over your shoulder before slamming the bathroom door shut behind you, and you hear her snickering to herself before you turn on the tap, grip the counter, and shove your hand into your boxers.  

————————————————

 

Little did you know that being roommates with the object of your current infatuation would be both a blessing and a curse. 

 

A few examples immediately come to mind: 

 

Laura has no problem with changing in front of you. 

 

_Pros: in this last week you’ve seen Laura Hollis topless and in various states of undress more times than you can count._

  
_Cons: you’ve seen Laura Hollis topless and in various states of undress and you haven’t been able to_ do  _anything about it._  


Laura likes to cuddle. A lot. 

 

_Pros: you get to have Laura Hollis pressed up against you in bed._

_Cons: this has yet to lead to mind-blowing sex._

Laura is an adorable but painfully obliviousdork.

 

_Pros: you can stare lustfully all you fucking want, because apparently Laura doesn’t feel your eyes dragging up and down her body 24/7._

_Cons: you have no idea if she knows that you’re interested in her as more than a friend, and if she does, you’ve got no clue how she feels about that._

So yeah. It has its ups and downs. 

 

You’re painfully aware that this morning’s dream wasn’t an isolated incident. 

 

If things keep going the way they have been, you’re sure that a strained wrist and Carpal Tunnel Syndrome will be developments in your not so distant future . 

————————————————

 

It’s a happy surprise that the parks created for the Vancouver leg of the Dew Tour are even nicer than those in Toronto, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t having the time of your life shredding the shit out of them with your best friend, your current love interest— no, not love,  _lust_ _— your current_ lust  _interest_ , and a sarcastic ginger bike-nerd, the latter two who are quickly joining the first as a welcome constant in your life.

 

The four of you are taking turns seeing who can come up with  _and_  pull off the most impressive line on the main course that’s used for both the skateboard and BMX park-style competitions, and compared to Laf, Laura, and Kirsch, you’re a little bit out of your depth. Still, you know that any practice is good practice, especially when today is saturday and your competition is on monday.

 

Being a vert skater by trade, Kirsch is far more comfortable skating bigger ramps and transitions than you are, and seeing as the park-style course is largely composed of, who would’ve guessed it, ramps and transitions, he’s having no problem adapting his standard repertoire of tricks to this new setting.    

 

As far as the two little bikers go, both Laf and Laura appear well adjusted to riding this style of course, which you aren’t surprised about after your secret 3 a.m. youtube binge session a few nights ago that resulted in you watching every single edit, compilation video, and team video part that the two featured in. That was a long night. Who knew that Laura would be such a natural in front of the camera?  

 

While you stand by your claim that you don’t care for BMX, you still know raw talent when you see it and it’s obvious that the cupcake and her ginger amigo have more than enough to go around, be it in the park or on the street. 

 

  
_You,_ on the other hand, have spent the majority of your skateboarding career focused solely on street. Ledges, handrails, stair sets; that’s where you felt comfortable. 

 

As if you’d let a single soul know that you, resident badass skater Carmilla Karnstein, who could and would throw herself down a fifteen stair without a second thought, also happened to be maybe-sort-of-a-little-bit afraid of skating the two and a half meter high, twelve meter long half pipe in front of you that Laura just so happened to be tearing up at this very moment.  

 

She’s in the middle of some kind of tire-stall competition with Lafontaine, the two of them each with  laughably concentrated faces, hunched over stances, and a foot jamming their front tires steady as the rest of their bikes remain precariously held in the air just above the edge of the ramp, when she calls out to you. 

 

“Come on Carm, Laf’s about to lose this round—” she begins, only to be cut off with an affronted sounding ‘hey!’ from the aforementioned losing party and a solid thunk as they lose their balance and tip forwards off their bike, landing face-first on the deck of the half pipe. 

 

Laura spares a quick glance down at her friend, who appears no worse for wear, and continues, “As I was just saying,” Laf flips her off with a grin, “I’m no longer participating in a high-stake contest of balance, so do you wanna ride doubles?!” 

 

You’re so busy staring at the bead of sweat that’s dripping from her excited little face and down her neck towards her cleavage that you don’t register her question until Laf clears their throat loudly with a smug eyebrow raise in your direction. 

 

“Uh-uhm yeah, doubles, sure!” 

 

You don’t think about what you’re agreeing to, you could be agreeing to chop off both of your legs and enter into a sexual relationship with Donald Trump for all you care, because really, what  _wouldn’t_ you agree to if you knew that it would keep Laura’s smile intact? 

 

“Awesome! Do you want to start, or should I?” 

 

What is she even asking? 

 

Oh god, when she reaches up to ruffle her hair the movement makes her shirt ride up too, fuck, her god damn stomach is enough to have you salivating, christ, what you’d do to that fucking body if she let you—

 

“Carm? I’m just gonna start, follow me, alright?” 

 

You nod dumbly, and somehow you manage to kick your fuzzy-feeling body into action because in an instant, you’re dropping into the pipe behind her. 

——————————————

 

You’re honestly shocked at how well you two flow together. 

 

Like she said she would, Laura seamlessly hopped into the ramp, rode smoothly across the flat bottom, and launched up the other side for her first trick. A 540. 

 

You quickly learned that with Laura, it’s go big or go home. 

 

For your turn you had to think quickly, the trick you’d pull only half formed in your mind as you rode up the far side of the pipe with speed. 

 

The cupcake let out a little cheer when you landed your move, a 360 melon grab. You had to pat yourself on the back for that one too, grab tricks never really were your forte, after all. 

 

From that point on, your doubles session became less of a 'follow the leader' situation and more of a ‘lets hit the same point at the same time.’ 

 

It was fucking awesome.

 

You’d initiated the dynamic change first, grabbing the opportunity to slip in right as she’d gotten into the air to execute a smooth switch 270 tuck-no-hander, you’d timed it so you would reach the coping of the ramp while she was at the apex of her jump. You saw the huge smile on her face as you settled into a blunt stall, your weight keeping the board in place with the coping wedged snuggly between the edge of your back trucks and the board’s tail. As Laura landed back into the ramp, you used your earlier momentum to pop out of the stall and roll back into the pipe fakie. 

 

Next it was your turn to air over her. 

 

Laura threw a quick barspin 180 before landing solidly with her back wheel on the lip of the ramp, body poised to drop back in at any moment. Doing a quick calculation, you altered your approaching angle slightly so you’d be able to successfully incorporate one of your favorite street tricks into this little game. 

 

“Stay solid, Hollis!” You’d urged her just before reaching the coping and ollieing out. You grabbed your board at the middle point between your feet before letting your back leg off the board to prepared for the next step of the trick. If Laura didn’t keep steady, you knew you’d be fucked. 

 

She did as instructed, thankfully, and provided you with a sturdy base for your foot to land on mid air before you kicked off of her tire, pulled your knees up, and repositioned your board underneath you so you could ride safely back into the ramp.  That was the first time you’d done a boneless outside of a street setting, and you were surprised at how natural it felt. 

 

You two continued on like that, alternating who stuck to coping tricks and who got to air out until you’d eventually made your way to the end of the pipe and more or less collapsed on top of each other in happy exhaustion. 

 

You move to sit up, earning a grunt from Laura who had just been displaced from where she’d been laying with her face resting atop your torso, when you hear an impressed whistle. 

 

“Nice sesh hotties! You guys flow great together!!” 

 

Apparently your doubles session had drawn the attention of Kirsch and Lafontaine, both of whom are sporting enormous grins and excited eyes, though Laf’s grin seems like it is leaning more towards the shit-eating variety. 

 

“Yeah, you two have great chemistry,” They start, and based on their grin evolving from 'possibly shit-eating' to straight up ‘feed-me-all-of-the-shit,’ whatever they were about to say was bound to stir the pot. 

 

“Like, you guys really  _connect,_ you know? Watching you both getting on top of and underneath each other totally showcased that intimate bond—”

 

“Watch yourself, ginger…” you cut them off with an unspoken threat, and even though your tone is hostile, they continue without missing a beat. 

 

“Tell me, Frosh, have you and Karnstein had ample time to develop that  _intimate relationship_  between you guys? It sure seems like you have! If not, I’d be happy to help you arrange times for further  _bonding…_ what about you,  _Carm,”_ they emphasize Laura’s nickname,“I’m sure you’ve given plenty of thought to when a good time to have Laura underneath you would be, or do you prefer thinking about her on top—”

 

You’d been kind of enjoying the first part of Lafontaine’s little speech, especially the way their words were causing Laura to blush a furious red and stutter in embarrassment. But then they’d moved their focus on to you. It’s ridiculous that all it takes is the vague suggestion of you and the cupcake fooling around to make a distracting heat pool low in your stomach. 

 

That heat was such a distraction, in fact, that you’d let the ginger say far too much before you snapped into action, pulling off your sneaker and throwing it in the general direction of their head. 

 

You hear a solid thunk. Then Laf laughs. 

 

“Bro, not cool! Why are you hotties always trying to hurt me?!” 

 

Well, you never claimed to have good aim. 


	7. Vancouver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with stolen moments and high stakes.
> 
>  
> 
> Teensy bit NSFW at the beginning, sorry not sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! If you're reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me, your feedback makes my day. I hope you all enjoy the new chapter :)

 

Two days ago I was woken up by the sound of Carmilla groaning softly and wriggling around in her bed. 

 

It only took me a minute of listening to realize what was going on. 

 

Carmilla, my (outwardly) untouchable roommate who just so happens to be a major dweeb around me, was having a sex dream. I’d be lying if I said that hearing her make those noises didn’t have an effect on me. 

 

I didn’t know what to do at that point, let her finish? 

 

Her dream! Let her  _finish her dream._  


 

But then I heard her moan something new. 

 

“Mmm Laura…” 

 

Her voice had been slurred with sleep, but I know what I heard. And maybe I could've blamed my following actions on the fact that I’d just woken up and hadn’t gotten a grasp on what is and isn’t appropriate just yet, but deep down, I'd accepted the fact that that was bullshit. Hearing Carm say my name like  _that,_ in  _that_ context? What else was I supposed to do? 

 

I had climbed out of my bed and onto hers' silently and positioned myself so I was straddling her hips, which honestly wasn’t one of my smartest moves, but whatever. 

 

Right as she had gotten more vocal and uh… for lack of a better word,  _thrashy_ , I’d decided to wake her up. To be honest, I don’t think I would have been able to deal with listening to her get off in her sleep without making any  _more_ rash, radical decisions. 

 

So I poked her. 

 

I started at her hip, then moved up her torso until I reached her collarbones, where I decided to just keep poking until I got a result. 

 

I’d alternated between poking her and saying her name softly, and when she woke up the surprise and full-blown desire in her eyes was obvious. So, in my ingenious attempt to diffuse the situation, I’d continued to poke her as I talked about my plan for the day, but when I shifted my hips against hers I had to stifle a moan. 

 

My actions had caused Carmilla to buck her hips up slightly against mine, and that split second of pressure was soso _so_ delicious. She’d made this little squeaking noise that was one part sexy and two parts adorable, before she  _literally_  shoved me off of her and ran into the bathroom, shouting about needing a shower over her shoulder. 

 

I didn’t bother holding in my laughter then, because a ‘ _shower,’_ really?

 

I doubt she realized that I could hear her muffled groans over the sound of water splashing against the bottom of the mostly empty tub. 

  

I also doubt she realized that I was doing the same exact thing that she was on the other side of the bathroom door. 

 

When I moved back to my bed my hands immediately shot to where I needed them, one cupping the mound between my legs over my quickly dampening underwear and the other slipping under my tank top and palming my breasts. 

 

I wasn’t really surprised at the ridiculous amount of wetness that met my fingers when I slid them beneath my briefs, because Carmilla is  _fucking_   _hot_ and I’m far past the point of denying my ludicrously strong attraction to her. I’d started quickly and only gotten faster, first gathering moisture from my entrance to spread across my clit, then immediately rubbing my fingers against it with hard strokes. I’d sped my fingers up to match the speed that I imagined Carmilla might be fucking herself at, and when I heard a particularly poorly muffled whine come from inside the bathroom, I lowered the hand that had been rubbing my clit and sunk two wet fingers inside of myself. I’d wondered if she was doing the same, if she liked penetration, or if she just stuck to rubbing her clit, if she preferred strokes or circles, did she use two fingers inside herself, or more? I was desperate to know right then. I still am. 

 

I remember being surprised at how quickly I could feel my walls pulsing and tightening around my fingers, because it usually took me a lot longer to get as close to coming as I was in that moment. 

 

Carmilla had cried out softly, and I heard what sounded like the thud of unsteady legs knocking into the bathroom cabinet, and I knew that she’d just made herself come. So I doubled my efforts; I increased the speed and force of the fingers thrusting inside of me and used my other hand to press hard against my clit, pushing and pulling at it roughly as my legs started to tense up and shake. 

 

That orgasm was one of the strongest releases I’d ever felt in my life.

——————————————

 

That was two days ago, and I’m still having trouble getting the idea of Carmilla underneath me out of my mind. Lafontaine’s little innuendo-wridden speech later that day didn’t help either. God, if I knew they were gonna twist riding doubles into something obscene, I wouldn’t have done it. 

 

Actually that’s not true. It was way too much fun. And getting to see Kirsch receive a poorly aimed shoe to the head  _was_ kind of amusing. 

 

But anyway, back to the here and now. 

 

I just got second place in the Vancouver leg of my Dew Tour experience. 

 

Do I wish I got first place? Of course. 

 

Am I still ridiculously excited about the fact that I medalled at all, and am now going on to the semi-finals in Seattle? Hell fucking yes. 

 

My total combined score was 21.2, just a few decimals beneath the gold-winning 21.9 from some Vancouver native, Mel Callis? Whatever, I rode as well as I could, I had fun, and the judges and audience both seemed to love it. Also, Carmilla hugged me close and whispered ‘I’m so proud of you’ into my hair as soon as I got away from the course.  

 

Plus, Mel is seriously a fucking  _beast_. I have no idea how she managed to land some of the tricks that she pulled, she honestly does deserve that gold. And my dad always taught me to be a gracious competitor, anyway. 

 

A few people stop by and congratulate me as I’m sitting in the bleachers watching the women’s street skateboarding contest, waiting for Carmilla’s first run to come up. 

 

I feel my heart in my throat when her name is announced, and I can barely cheer along with the rest of the crowd because my smile is so wide. She looks over to me right before she begins to run forward and hop onto her board, and I give her two thumbs up because well… I’m a dork and I panicked. 

 

I think she laughed though, so that’s good! 

 

Just like in the Toronto competition, she’s decked out in all black except for her hat. This time she’s got my bright blue beanie on, though. 

 

Right before the competition started, she snatched it off my head and settled it snugly onto her own. I gave her a questioning look, and she just stepped forward, close enough to place a hand on my hip and get her lips right next to my ear, and whispered “Maybe I wanted a token of good luck from my cupcake, cupcake…” before she stepped back, smirked at me, and sauntered away towards the starting ramp. 

 

The exchange didn’t fluster me at all. Nope. 

Not one bit. 

 

I’m snapped out of my flashback by the sound of the crowd roaring around me,  _“Karnstein lands a smooth 360 kickflip off the big ledge, that_  must _have been one hard impact!”_  


 

My eyes find her form as she flows through the course, but I can tell she’s holding back. Maybe the impact hurt her ankles? Whatever the reason, it’s clear to me that she’s avoiding all of the big drops and sticking more towards the ramps and rails. 

 

I see her wince at the end of her run when she lands her final trick, a backside boardslide pop-shuvit out down one of the shorter handrails, and when she gets back up to the starting deck, she reaches down to rub her right ankle. It’s the ankle of the foot she uses to pop all of her tricks with, which explains her cautious riding. 

 

She gets a 6.1. 

 

It’s a great score, honestly, it is, but I can see the disappointment on Carmilla’s face. When the time comes for her to start the second run, I watch with a white knuckle grip on my knees and my breath trapped uselessly in my lungs. 

 

I hadn’t even thought about the possibility that one of us could continue to the semifinals while the other went home. An icy bolt of fear settles into my gut at the idea of Carmilla getting seriously injured and not being able to compete, or just not medalling, even. 

 

What would happen to us then? I mean, technically there isn’t even an ‘us’ to be worried about in the first place, but if we got separated like that then my chance to make ‘us’ a reality vanishes, doesn’t it? She’ll go home and forget about me. 

 

Fuck. I need to do something. 

 

While I had been freaking out internally, Carm had already skated through the first 20 seconds of her run. She was still moving, which was a good sign, and she was still nailing her tricks, although they were definitely of a lesser caliber as far as technicality goes. 

 

I hear the ending horn blow just as I make a decision and hop away from the bleachers, speed walking to a restricted area behind the starting deck and slipping to the side of the ramp, directly beside an oblivious Carmilla. 

She’s too busy sitting at the corner of the deck and half-assedly wrapping her ankle to notice that I’ve literally just snuck up behind her, and then her attention, as well as mine, is drawn to the announcer’s booth where they’re giving the score for the second run. 

 

A 5.2. I wince at that and watch as she drops the bandage wrap defeatedly. 

 

Okay, I need to do something.  _Right now._  


A quick bit of mental math later, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Carm needs to score at least a 6.6 to medal, and a 7.1 to get the gold. 

 

I step forward to reveal my presence and grab her hand. 

 

“Fuck, cupcake, what’re you doing over here?” 

 

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

 

“Okay Carm, I need you to listen to me and not interrupt, because we don’t have much time before your turn for the final run comes up, okay?” I say this all while grabbing the dropped roll of bandaging in one hand and guiding her injured leg towards me so I could begin to  _correctly_  apply the wrap.

 

She just nods mutely and continues to dart her eyes between my face and my hands. 

 

“You need to get a 6.6 if you’re gonna be able to stay on this tour, Carm, do you think you can do that? Because honestly I can’t imagine going forward without you—” she cuts me off by putting a hand against my cheek and turning my face towards her. She hesitates to speak, and she’s just staring at my mouth in the most obvious manner I’ve ever seen. It gives me the courage to continue talking. 

 

“I can’t imagine going forward without you because then I won’t get the chance to— no wait, this isn’t coming out right, oh fuck it. Carmilla Karnstein, go out there and win the gold, and don’t get hurt because if you do, I won’t be able to take you out on a date tonight.” 

———————————————————————— 

 

When the time came for Carmilla to take her third run, she was like a totally different person. 

 

Any trace of the defeat that was crawling slowly across her features earlier had vanished, and was instead replaced by a genuine, honest-to-god grin. I could see the fire in her eyes as she let the determination to win settle over her. Right before she kicked off she looked down at me and gave me a smile that was somehow equal parts cocky and soft, then all she said was “don’t worry about planning anything, sweetheart, I’ve had the perfect date night planned in my head since last week.” 

    

I knew I was doing my, as Carmilla so lovingly calls it, dangerously-red-goldfish imitation, but I didn’t fucking care. The feeling that I got in my chest right then left no room for uncertainty. 

 

Carmilla was going to win. We were going to go on a date. I was finally going to kiss that smug grin off her face. 

 

Watching her final run was like a dream.

 

She kicked off confidently, gaining speed as she skated parallel to the lip of the starting quarter pipe, and then she ollied high, tucked her back knee up, and used her back hand to grab the board right between her feet, starting her run off with an explosive stalefish grab into the ramp. 

 

She knew what she was doing. I’ve never seen her throw parkstyle tricks into her street runs, and it was clear that she was doing it to rack up variety points with the judges. 

 

She maintained her speed as she approached the same big ledge that she had gotten hurt on in the first run and I held my breath. 

 

With all the swagger of someone who knows  _exactly_ what they’re doing, Carmilla ollied up and landed with only her front trucks grinding along the metal ledge coping. As the drop approached, I watched her adjust her feet slightly, and then she was popping off with her front foot and using the back one to flip the board. 

 

_“Whoa! Carmilla Karnstein is absolutely dominating this course, ladies and gentlemen. That’s a perfect landing on that nosegrind to nollie backfoot heelflip off of the big ledge, incredible!”_

She continued to move through the park steadily, systematically hitting every obstacle she could. I watched in awe as she flowed up the launch ramp that led to an upper level, similar to the layout of the Toronto park. She flicked a quick kickflip from the launch ramp to the deck, and landed on her back two wheels in a manual. 

 

It felt like the entire population of the course and bleachers was holding its collective breath as we all watched Carmilla rock and bend her knees to keep herself balanced on her back wheels. She held the manual all the way to the rail that led back to the center of the park, and ollied out of it just in time to land straight on top of the rail and grind down it in a smooth 50-50. 

 

The horn sounded the second her wheels made contact with the ground, and I swear, the audience went fucking wild. 

 

Carmilla seemed to ignore everything around her, staring intensely up to the judges table and impatiently awaiting her score. 

 

They posted it. 

 

8.1

 

She didn’t jump up and down, or do a victory dance, or even acknowledge the other skaters congratulating her. Instead, her eyes found mine and she just smiled. 

 

It was the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. 


	8. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's date night in Hollstein-ville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much to everyone that's reading/commenting/giving kudos/etc. It keeps me writing and updating faster ;) 
> 
> (it actually does, I'm not just saying that as a plea for validation, srsly.)

 

When you felt a stinging pressure go through your ankle after that 360 kickflip in your first run, you pretty much figured that this was the end. 

 

But you finished the run, and gave the second one a valiant attempt, too. Still, you could tell your ankle was getting weaker, and if you wanted to medal at all you needed to get a  _nice_  fucking score. 

 

It was almost like you could feel Laura slipping away between your fingers. You were going home. She wasn’t. That realization hurt like a bitch. It hurt more than knowing that your biological parents didn’t want you. More than that time a bolt in your trucks got loose and sent you hurtling face-first down a stair set with your broken three-wheeled board trailing behind you. Fuck. It hurt more than Lilita calling you an abomination and a whore and then kicking you out. 

 

And you know why the pain is so fucking acute this time. 

 

Because Laura was your potential future. With everything else, there was always something to function as a mental bandage. 

 

No parents? You had the boys. 

Face full of gravel and a broken arm? It heals. 

Lilita disowning you? Well, Kirsch had mentioned wanting a roommate anyway. 

 

But this time there was nothing. Just harsh reality. 

 

You’d dropped your bandaging to the floor at the same time you let your head hang down. 

 

Its over. 

 

Then, someone is grabbing your hand. And it’s Laura, of course it is. 

 

It’s always fucking Laura, really.

 

You’re so focused on her nimble fingers wrapping your ankle with textbook-level precision that you nearly miss her rambling. She starts talking about the score you need to medal, and you can’t stop glancing between her lips and her hands, but then she says that she can’t imagine going forward without you, and you realize that yeah,  _that_  is no longer something you’ll allow to be a possibility. 

 

You turn her to face you with a gentle hand against her cheek, and the way she’s staring at your lips and starting to blush is overwhelming.  

 

Then she says exactly what you needed to hear: 

_Go out there and win the gold, and don’t get hurt because if you do, I won’t be able to take you out on a date tonight._

You’d just grinned and let the newfound confidence pour through your veins. Right before you start your run you catch her eye. In an instant your verbal filter vanishes, and you’re saying “don’t worry about planning anything, sweetheart, I’ve had the perfect date night planned in my head since last week,” which, alright, at least it sounded smooth, but also, it more or less revealed how fucking badly you want this girl. 

 

You watch as Laura returns to her spot in the stands with Lafontaine, their ginger racer gal-pal, Kirsch, and unfortunately, Danny The Redheaded Beanstalk. Kirsch got roomed with her after there was a mixup in the hotel bookings for the vert competitors, and for some reason  _completely_  fucking unbeknownst to you, he likes her. She’s mainly shown only disdain for him, but you saw her checking him out earlier when he was skating shirtless, and she also apologized to Laura for coming on so strongly, so maybe she isn’t  _all_ bad. 

 

Honestly, you don’t remember a single god damn moment of that final run. You didn’t plan a thing, you just let yourself go and threw the biggest and best tricks you had. When you get your score, the one that rocketed you into first place, you just let out a breath and look at Laura. 

 

You’ve been doing that a lot lately, just looking at her, and not even in an ‘I’m going to fuck your brains out’ way. Mostly. 

 

She has a way to simultaneously ground you and send you into the atmosphere, how  _could_  you look away?

——————————————

 

After you finish the formalities of receiving your medal and all the attached corporate nonsense, you head back to the stands where Laura is waiting for you. 

 

You aren’t sure what the protocol of the current situation is. Do you hug her? Thank her? Kiss her? 

 

She makes the decision for you. 

 

You’re engulfed in her scent as she basically throws herself at you and proceeds to cling to you like a koala. After a solid minute and a half of you silently gripping her against your body with your hands beneath the backs of her thighs to hold her up, she climbs off of you and settles back onto the ground. She doesn’t let go of your upper body though, and if anything, she actually seems to burrow into you further. 

 

She whispers that she’s proud of you against the side of your head, similar to how you’d said pretty much the same to her earlier, and then she kisses you. 

 

Well not  _kisses you_ kisses you, it’s more of a peck to the corner of your mouth, but hell, you’ll fucking take it! 

 

“So…” she says, “I would say that I owe you a date, but apparently you’ve got it all figured out already?” 

 

She’s got the smuggest little smile right now, like, her smirk would be smirking its own smirk if anatomy wasn’t a thing. 

 

You drop your arms so they’re loosely framing her waist, letting your hands trail lightly under her shirt over the skin of her hips. She adjusts her own arms so they’re resting on your shoulders, hands clasped behind your head. 

 

You drop your face to the crook of her neck and groan, trying to cover the smile she always seems to bring out of you. 

 

“Shut it, cutie,” you say against her collarbone, “I’ll have you know that I can be quite romantic when I try…” 

 

You can feel the vibration of her little chuckle against your cheek where it’s resting flush against her side of her throat. 

 

“Mmmhm, I don’t doubt that, Carm. So, what’s the plan?! Dish!” 

 

Did she really just say ‘dish?’ 

 

“It’s a secret, cupcake, just be ready to go by 8. And dress casual but weather appropriate, alright?” 

 

You take a risk and place a small open mouthed kiss on her underside of her jaw before backing up and walking off in search of Kirsch. Her eyes feel like they’re burning a hole in your back, so you make sure to add a little more swing to your step. 

 

You hold back a laugh and force yourself to keep walking forwards when you hear a small, frustrated “ugh, stupid, sexy, tease!” come from behind. 

———————————————————————

 

You’ll never tell Laura this, but Kirsch was actually your main source of advice for the whole date planning thing. For someone who says the words ‘bro’ or ‘hottie’ every other sentence, the boy is surprisingly in touch with his emotional, romantic side. Christ, he was like, legitimately overeager to help last week when you’d hesitantly mentioned wanting to take Laura out. 

 

So with him acting as a sounding board, the two of you had come up with something you hoped would be the perfect mix of romantic, comfortable, and casual. Now all you had to do was pray that the weather held up and kept the sky clear. 

 

And buy champagne. Shit, you almost forgot about that. 

 

The plan itself is simple: buy some pizza and champagne, (because you’re twenty, for fuck’s sake, who the hell cares about pairing pizza with champagne?) and look at the stars with Laura. 

 

You’ve already got the spot picked out and a blanket ready and everything. 

 

You meet up with Kirsch in his room, which is thankfully ginger-free at the moment, and check the bag you’d texted him to grab from your room to make sure it's full of the clothes that you hopefully described accurately enough for him to find. 

 

Surprisingly, everything that you picked out is accounted for. 

 

Trusty old Doc Martens

Your leather pants, of course

That one moon-phase tank you love

Thin black hoodie

Cozy oversized army jacket

Red and brown snapback 

Lucky Underwear

 

The last item isn’t some kind of ‘get you laid’ charm, you had to explain to Kirsch, they’re just comfortable and you were wearing them when you got the gold in Toronto. Also, they have little lightning bolts on them, which is cool. 

 

You kind of regret asking Kirsch for a favor that involved going through your bags, though. You’d received a number of startled texts from him while he was apparently raiding your room, some highlights were: 

 

  
**Puppy** : 5:45

_Dude, is this really what tampons look like?_

  
**Puppy** : 5:46

_I think I broke it oh my god bro I’m sorry!_

(He’d attached a picture of him pouting with a mess of empty tampon applicators on the floor. Like, what the fuck was he even doing?)

 

  
**Puppy** : 5:52

_Bro what’s in that soft purple bag in your sock drawer? It feels funny._

  
**You** : 5:54

_Wilson Kirsch, do not open that bag unless you want to be mentally scarred for life._

  
**Puppy** : 5:54

_Too late!_

  
**Puppy** : 5:55

_I don’t get it… like, why is it shaped like that?_

  
**Puppy** : 5:55

_DUDE I FIGURED IT OUT OH MY GOD_

  
**You** : 5:59

_I warned you._

_———————————_

It’s now just gone past 7 P.M. and you’re lounging on Kirsch’s bed while he sits shame-faced in the corner. Serves him right, he should know better than to go rooting through a girl’s sock drawer. 

 

“Bro, I’m like super sorry—” 

“Save it, puppy,” you say, “stop apologizing, you didn’t know. Although if you broke it somehow, you owe me. Strap-ons are fucking pricy.” 

 

You don’t let him reply, instead you choose to move the conversation along to the reason why you’re in his room in the first place. 

 

“So, I’ve got the champagne, the pizza is ordered, and I already went out and set up the blanket. Do you think I’m forgetting anything?” 

 

Kirsch grins at you, probably because he’s never seen you fret over something this much in all the years he’s known you.

 

“Bro, you’re being like, mad adorable right now,” you glare at him, which makes him gulp and hold his hands up in surrender before continuing, “chill out, alright? Little hot—  _Laura,_ sorry, Laura is gonna love it.”

 

You run your hands through your hair and sigh deeply. 

 

“I hope so… I just, I really like her, you know?” 

 

“Duh, you’re kinda obvious about it. Like, me and Lafontaine knew straight away. They said that you were a giant dork with hearts for eyes whenever you’re with Laura, which is totally legit—” 

 

You cut him off.

 

“Wilson?” 

 

“Yeah dude?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

———————————————  

 

You feel a little ridiculous standing outside of your  _own_  hotel room trying to work up the nerve to knock on your  _own_  door. 

 

You check your phone again. 8:01. 

 

Taking a deep breath, you reach out with a closed fist, poised to knock. 

 

“Carm? You’ve been standing out there for ten minutes, are you gonna come in yet?” 

 

Shit. 

 

You open the door and duck your head, trying to hide your embarrassed smile. 

 

“Sorry cupcake, just uh.. a little nervous I guess…” 

 

When you look up your jaw drops. 

 

She’s beautiful. Like tear your heart to shreds, ruin your life kinds of beautiful. 

 

“You look… wow.” 

 

She smiles shyly, “I could say the same to you,” and suddenly you’re trying to figure out why you’ve waited till now to ask her out. 

 

“What, me? Nah…” you try and dismiss Laura’s compliment, because honestly your outfit doesn’t hold a candle to hers. 

 

She’s got this dark blue short sleeve button up on, with the bottom part tied to expose the strip of skin above the top of her grey skinny jeans, and the shirt is just see-through enough to wreak havoc on your mind, and in your pants admittedly, because, duh. Her jeans cling to her like a second skin, and you aren’t even sure if the desire to peel them off of her is stronger than the desire to just keep staring. On her feet are little black slip-ons, and it surprises you how delicate this girl can look when half the time she’s doing crazy, death-defying shit for fun. 

 

“Just take the compliment, Karnstein.” she says with a tone of mocking authority, “are we all ready to go?” 

 

“Yeah,” you nod, doing a quick mental check to make sure everything should go smoothly, “Just grab some kind of jacket, then we can leave.” 

 

She quickly grabs a fluffy gray infinity scarf and struggles to put it on while simultaneously darting around the room looking for a coat. You can’t help but grin when you see that she grabs your big leather bomber jacket instead of her usual peacoat.

 

The two of you step out of the room and lock the door behind you, and you offer her your hand.

 

“Shall we?” you ask with a soft smile.

 

“We shall.” 

 

She grips your hand tightly and begins to pull you down the hallway to the elevators, even though she has no idea where you’re going. 

 

Fuck. 

This little dork of a girl might just ruin you. 

—————————— 

 

The hill where you’d set up the blanket and champagne is about a fifteen minute walk from the hotel, so you slyly text Kirsch, who is dutifully playing the role of secret pizza delivery boy, to drop off the food when you’re about five minutes to your destination. 

 

When you get there, Laura gives a little delighted squeal that sounds kind of like she’s saying pizza, so you figure that she’s content with your choice of dining accommodations.   

 

Once the two of you are settled on the blanket sitting cross legged and facing each other, both with a slice of pizza in hand, Laura breaks the silence. 

 

“So, you’ve already got brownie points for buying us pizza, what else is included in this romantic evening of ours?” she says it without any hint of expectation or judgement, just simple curiosity. 

 

“Well,” you begin, trying not to stumble over your words like an imbecile, “we’ve also got champagne,” you pick up the bottle and show it to her with a The Price Is Right-style flourish, “and I thought that maybe after we finish eating, we could just, I don’t know, look at the stars?” 

 

Her free hand finds its way across the blanket and comes to rest warmly on your knee. 

 

“That sounds perfect, thank you Carm.” 

 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

 

You wonder is she knows how true that statement is. 

—————————————— 

 

After you and Laura had consumed a truly alarming amount of pizza, you pop open the champagne and distribute it evenly into two plastic flutes. Then, you lean back on the blanket and rest on your elbows, sipping at your glass intermittently as Laura follows your lead and rests back as well, close enough that you two are flush together, side by side.

 

You begin pointing out your favorite constellations, giving their background stories to Laura whenever you can remember them, and after a while she rests her head on your shoulder, both of your champagne flutes empty and discarded to the side. 

 

“Hey Carm?” 

 

“Yeah Creampuff?” 

 

“Why me?”

 

You’re taken aback by the question. What the hell could she possibly be asking?

 

“Why you what?”

 

She sits up and you miss the warmth of her against you immediately. You follow suit and sit up as well, both of you returning to your previous cross-legged positions, only this time close enough that your knees are touching. 

 

“Like, ugh, sorry, words are hard—” 

 

“Take your time, sweetness, I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

She lets out a deep breath once she’s apparently gathered her thoughts. 

 

“You could have anyone you want,” you go to cut her off but she’s obviously on a mission to say what she’s thinking, because she just holds a finger up to your lips and gives you the ‘don’t interrupt, this is some serious shit’ look. You nod slightly and take her hand in yours, cradling it in your lap. 

 

“You ooze attraction, Carm, you’re smart, funny, so fucking talented I could cry, and quite honestly, too beautiful to adequately express in words. I know you don’t do relationships, Kirsch mentioned it to Laf, who mentioned it to me. So my question is, why are you acting like this with me? Am I just a challenge, or something?” 

 

You’re floored at that. First of all, you’d like to think that you don’t ‘ooze’ anything. Secondly, a challenge? Is that really all she thinks of you? You do your best not to bristle and get defensive, because there’s a time and place for that, neither of which are here and now. 

 

“Listen, Laura,” she looks up at you with slightly fearful eyes, and it’s only then you realize just how insecure she really is. You’re gonna have to lay everything on the line if you’re going to make her see that you really are invested. Because you are, truly, and that scares the living shit out of you. However, the thought of losing Laura scares you more. Infinitely so. 

 

“I know I’ve never really been one for like, relationships, and ‘feelings' and whatnot, but you’re just… different. I need you to believe that you’re not just some kind of fucked up game or challenge for me, alright? I’ve never been so fucking nervous about anything as I was when I was trying to set this up, or when I was trying to figure out if you even liked me back…”   

 

“You thought I didn’t like you? Carm, I know  _I’m_ oblivious, but  _you_  had to have been able to tell that I’m ridiculously attracted to you.” 

 

“Well buttercup, I knew you liked my looks,” you smirk, “but I figured my so called ‘reputation’ would have turned you off.” 

 

“What?! Never, I don’t judge people for their pasts, Carmilla, besides, pretty much everything you do turns me on—”  she slaps a hand over her mouth as her cheeks flush red.

 

“Everything I do turns you on, eh?” 

 

“Ignore that I said that!”    

 

“Why on earth would I ignore that, cutie? Plus, don’t you want to know if I feel the same way?” 

 

You try to sound coy, teasing, but Laura’s previously embarrassed expression just morphed into one of the cat who got the cream, and it’s making you kind of nervous. 

 

“Actually,  _cutie,_ I don’t need you to tell me that I turn you on, you’ve already expressed that pretty well.”  

 

“Oh really? Care to enlighten me about this?” You swallow nervously but try not to let it show.

 

“Lets just say that you moan in your sleep. And also, the bathroom door is  _pretty_ thin.” 

 

Well, fuck. 

 

She grins at you knowingly and all you can do is shrug in acquiescence. 

 

“What can I say, Hollis? You’ve got a hot bod.” 

 

“And is that all you want me for?” 

 

Fuck, she sounds insecure again. Nice one, Karnstein. 

 

“Laura, no. Yeah, you’re fucking sexy, and yes, I may or may not have fallen to the temptation of my very active imagination one or twelve times, but you’re more than that. You make me feel safe, and you make me laugh like nobody else can, and when I’m near you I feel like I’m gonna explode and melt at the same fucking time. I lo— I really,  _really_  like you, e-everything about you, not just what’s on the surface.” 

 

You barely manage to get the last few words out because your lungs have decided to stop cooperating and Laura is inching closer and closer to your face. Then her hands are pulled away from yours and she’s kneeling in front of you. 

 

She looks you in the eye and slowly pushes against your shoulders, causing you to lay flat on your back as her body follows yours. 

 

Then she’s kissing you. 

 

Like, for real this time. 

 

And it takes every shred of strength you have not to moan when she reaches for your hands and tugs them up, placing them to rest low on her hips while her tongue teases your bottom lip. 

 

You counter her actions by lifting your hips slightly, causing her to let out a quiet whimper and fall forward a little. Using your teeth, you pull her bottom lip into your mouth and suck on it gently, and let your hands slip further down until they’re  _just about_ cupping her ass, and you feel like you’re dreaming. 

 

She breaks the kiss and stops the subtle-but-so-so- _so_ -pleasant grinding of her hips, then rests her forehead against yours. You’ve never felt closer. 

 

“Laf was right, you know,” you say against her lips.

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“I’ve spent quite a bit of time imagining you on top of me. But—” you shift your bottom half, causing Laura to roll onto her back with a surprised squeal and giving you the opportunity to reverse your positions. You grind down hard against her once, not letting yourself go any further. “I’ve very much  _enjoyed_ thinking about you underneath me as well.” 

 

She gasps into your mouth when you take her wrists and hold them above her head on the blanket. 

 

“So how does the real thing compare?” Her voice is shaky and you fucking love it. 

 

“So, so much better.” 

 

Then you’re kissing her again and everything fades to black. 


	9. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one after the date and where Carmilla has the perfect cure for nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my obligatory Saturday update! Hope you all enjoy :)
> 
> P.S. the end is NSFW af

 

Contrary to Lafontaine’s belief, Carmilla and I didn’t have sex last night. We got  _close,_ but ultimately Carm was the one who decided it would be better if we waited. 

 

Plus, she made a good point about not wanting our first time to come with the potential of getting caught and arrested for public indecency. 

 

So instead, the two of us gathered up the blanket and our garbage from the picnic and walked hand in hand back to the hotel. I’d be lying if I said we went straight to sleep once we got back to our room, though. 

 

Like, pants-on-fire levels of lying. 

 

The fact that I opened the door in my underwear with my hair disheveled and quite a few visible hickies painted across my throat and chest when Lafontaine came knocking this morning didn’t help me prove to them that we didn’t sleep together, either. 

 

It  _also_  didn’t help that when they barged further into the room, they were met with the (perfectly delectable) sight of one Carmilla Karnstein sound asleep in my bed, clad only in a pair of lightning bolt covered boxer briefs and a cropped, barely-there tank top. 

 

So, yeah. 

 

There really wasn’t any use in trying to convince Lafontaine otherwise. 

————————————————— 

 

I’d shooed them out of the room quickly and followed them into the hall, shutting the door halfway behind us. 

 

“Laf,  _please_ don’t say anything to Carm, okay? I don’t know if she wants anyone to know about us. Or if she even wants there to be an official us—” 

 

“Chillax, L, I won’t say anything. Although, if she was trying to be discreet she  _probably_  shouldn’t have made it look like you were on the losing side of a vampire ambush.” 

 

I can feel the blush starting already so I roll my eyes to try and cover it up. 

 

“Ugh, whatever, just— promise me, alright?” 

 

“Alright, alright. I won’t say anything, I swear.” 

 

They pull me into a hug and say quietly, “I’m happy for you though, Frosh. You guys are good together.” 

 

I hug them tighter for a moment before releasing them and taking a deep breath. 

 

“Thanks, Laf. I’m gonna go wake the sleepyhead up, but we’ll be there bright and early for your comp this afternoon, don’t worry! Actually, we’ll meet you for lunch beforehand!”         

 

“Oh, ‘wake her up,’  _sure_.” 

 

They say slowly with an exaggerated wink. I shove them in the shoulder lightly and cover my ears when they start to list off all the fun and exciting ways I could go about waking Carmilla up before scrambling back into the room and slamming the door shut behind me. 

 

The noise wakes Carmilla up with a jolt, unfortunately. 

 

Though I must admit, her just-startled-awake face is fucking  _cute._  


 

“What the frilly hell was that, cupcake?” She looks around with her eyes half open and spots me at the door. “And why, pray tell, are you not currently snuggled up with me right now?” 

 

God, she can be such a dork when she first wakes up. 

And all the time, really. 

 

“Sorry Carm, Lafontaine just needed to ask me something, didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

 

“Hmm, I thought I heard the little ginger… but no harm no foul, cutie.  _Although,_ now that I’m thoroughly awake, I wouldn’t be opposed to you showing me just how  _sorry_  you are?” 

 

God, she's been awake for all of twenty minutes and she's already turning me into a molten puddle of Hollis. 

 

I walk over to my bed and climb back under the covers, laying halfway on top of Carmilla, and slide my hand up her stomach to rub back and forth against the skin beneath her breasts. It boosts my ego that as soon as I do this, she arches up into me and seeks out my mouth with hers. 

 

“—mmm and good morning to you too!” I pull away from the kiss and smile at Carmilla pouting up at me. 

 

“Hey, no pouting, missy, I can’t 'apologize' for waking you up correctly if you’re pouting.” 

 

She smirks and tugs me fully on top of her so my thigh rests between hers, and I can feel her dampness against my bare skin. I press my leg against her core and am rewarded with a quiet hiss. We continue like this for a while, exchanging gentle but needy kisses as I rock my hips against hers.

 

Capturing her bottom lip between my teeth, a move that she’d unknowingly taught me last night, I brace myself with my hands against the mattress, framing her face between them, and use the leverage to push my weight against her via my thigh. I let go of her lip with a pop, and smile victoriously when she writhes slightly beneath me and grabs at my ass to pull me closer.  

 

Just as I’m about to suggest that she removes her top, my phone vibrates on the bedside table right next to our heads. 

 

“Ignore it,” Carmilla whines. 

 

I know I can’t, though, so with a disappointed sigh I peck her quickly on the lips and scoot over slightly to grab the offending object. 

 

A new text from Laf. Great. 

 

  
**Lafonbrain** : 12:27 

_Hey sex kitten, you said you’d wake your little girlfriend up 45 minutes ago. Where are you? You said we’d get lunch before I ride, and I know you’ve probably been ‘eating’ already, but some of us need actual food!_

“Shit!” 

 

“Whoa, Laura, what’s up?” 

 

“I totally forgot that I told Laf we’d meet up with them to get lunch before their competition, and somehow it’s been almost an hour since they left but I could’ve sworn that it’s only been like five—” she cuts me off with a kiss. 

 

“Time flies when you’re sexually frustrated, sweetheart…” she purrs, “but, I’d hate to let your orange sidekick down, so I guess we really should get up.”

 

I never thought I’d see a day where  _Carmilla_  was the being the sensible, time-sensitive voice of reason. But I should take the out while I still can, so with those words, I drag myself out of bed and take the quickest shower of my life.

 

When I get out, Carmilla is already dressed and ready to go. 

 

“Seriously Carm, no shower?” 

 

She pouts jokingly at me, “Really creampuff? Such judgement, even after last night? You wound me.” 

 

I sigh and roll my eyes before trotting over to her and placing a relatively chaste kiss on the lips I’ve already grown so attached to. 

 

“Oh quit it, you know I’m not judging you. Now, let me just find something to wear, then we can go!” 

———————————————————

 

Five minutes of digging through my bags and cursing my lack of organization-based packing skills later, the two of us are dressed and out the door. 

 

Carmilla takes my hand in hers after we’re a few paces into our journey and continues to hold on all the way to the diner I said we’d meet Lafontaine at. I feel like my face might split in two if I smile any wider. 

 

Thankfully lunch passes by in easy conversation, Laf keeps their word and doesn’t bring up the array of bruises still visible on my neck or the fact that they found Carmilla in my bed this morning, which I’m incredibly grateful for. 

 

Sooner than expected, lunch is over and I’m wishing Lafontaine good luck and walking with Carmilla towards the park arena to get a good seat. Not that finding seating is usually an issue when it comes to women’s events… ugh, no, I will  _not_ let some Boys-Club bullshit crush my spirit. 

 

We get to the bleachers and pick a seat in the front that gives a great overview of the course, but Carmilla must notice that my mood has soured considerably since we left the diner. 

 

“Hey sweetheart, what’s going on? You look like someone just said Tegan and Sara can’t sing.” 

 

I can’t help but smile lightly at that, especially with the way that Carmilla gently bumps our shoulders together and rubs her thumb rhythmically against the back of my hand. 

 

“Just thinking about how lame it is that the women’s side of everything doesn’t get nearly as much exposure as the men’s… I mean, it’s awesome that they include us at all, not that that should even be something we have to be thankful for in the first place, obviously, but still—”

 

“Breathe, babe, I know exactly what you mean. But that’s why it’s so important that we’re here, we’ve gotta show the judges that we’re just as capable of destroying the competition as the guys are.” 

 

I sigh, knowing she’s right but not wanting to dismiss the frustration I feel about the situation. Also, she just called me babe. 

 

She nudges me again, “Hey, after Laf wins, you can write whatever feminist equality propaganda you want on one of Kirsch’s blank tee shirts and I’ll make him wear it during his contest…” 

 

Now that pulls a genuine smile from me. I nuzzle my face into her neck.

 

“Thanks Carm, you’re the best.” 

 

“Like, obviously,” she scoffs out in a fake valley-girl accent before her face gets serious again, “I meant what I said last night, Laura, anything for you.” 

 

I move to bury myself deeper into her side and try to push down the desperate need to kiss her, because like, yeah, we’ve held hands in public, but lots of friends do that. I don’t know if she’s alright with public displays of affection, let alone whether or not she’d be alright with public displays of affection with  _me._ I mean, we didn’t DTR yet, so I’m trying not to make any assumptions that leave me looking like a brokenhearted fool and cause Carmilla to be uncomfortable. 

 

I’m so tangled up in my own thoughts that when Carm puts her hand on the back of my neck and guides my mouth to hers, I don’t kiss back. 

—————

 

She looks genuinely hurt at my reaction, or lack thereof, and I don’t get a chance to explain myself because the competition starts and Carmilla chooses to spend the entirety of it leaning forward and away from me. I’m sure she thinks it looks like she’s just immersed in the riding, but I can tell from the way that her eyes are so hyper-focused on the course that she’s not really seeing a thing. 

 

She’s silent during the walk back to the hotel, she wouldn’t even comment on Lafontaine’s crazy second run that shot them into first place for the rest of the comp. She does at least allow me to hold her hand, though her grip is weak and her thumb makes no move to rub against me like it normally does.

 

It’s awkward, to say the least, when we finally open the door to our hotel room. She just lets go of my hand and moves across the space to sit in the single desk chair, far away from both beds. 

 

“Carm—” 

 

“What the fuck,  _cupcake?”_  


 

Her pet names have never sounded this harsh, and it makes me wince. 

 

“Did last night  _actually_ mean nothing? And this morning, too? I— I thought you like me too…” her voice trembles around the last few words.

 

Fuck, I didn’t realize that she might be just as insecure as I am about this whole thing. 

 

“Carm no, please just listen to me!” 

 

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders back, nodding at me to indicate that I should start talking. 

 

“Of course I like you back, jesus christ, Carm, last night and this morning mean the world to me. I just got so caught up in my own head that I fucked it up, and—”

 

I feel myself starting to tear up, so I cut off my sentence to try and recompose myself. 

 

“Wait, what do you mean you got caught up in your own head?” 

 

Okay,  _this_  I could work with, I’ve never been any good at explaining myself, so having a clear starting point helps me get my thoughts in order. 

 

“After you calmed me down about the whole men vs. women popularity thing, a-and you were being so sweet to me, all I wanted to do was kiss you! But then I started worrying, you know? Because what if you were against PDA, or you wanted us to be a secret? So I was so deep in my own thoughts, trying to make myself  _not_ kiss you in case it upset you, that when  _you_ kissed  _me,_ I kind of just… froze.” 

 

Her face softens, like, very noticeably so, and I feel like maybe I  _didn’t_ just royally fuck everything up. 

 

She pinches the skin at the bridge of her nose and sighs, shaking her head slightly in what seems to be disbelief?

 

“God, I’m an idiot. You not kissing me back made me think that  _you_ wanted to keep it a secret, Laura, and…  that hurt me way more than I thought it would. Look sweetheart, I want to be with you, like actually, officially, shout-it-from-the-rooftops  _be_ with you.”

 

I walk over to where she’s still sat and kneel in front of her. 

 

“So… are you asking me to be, like, you know—”

 

“Laura,” she cuts me off, which I’m grateful for, “be my girlfriend?” 

 

I don’t answer verbally, but I think the fact that I pulled her down to me and initiated the most desperately happy make out session that’s ever existed was a clear enough ‘yes.’ 

——————————————————— 

 

It’s the night before the semi-finals officially start, and thankfully all of us, meaning Lafontaine, Perry, Carm, Kirsch, Danny, and I, have settled into Seattle comfortably.  

 

My competition is tomorrow at noon, and Carmilla’s is directly afterwards at two. We already heard that the crowds were supposed to be much bigger than what we’re used to, thanks to Kirsch’s advertising stunt and the fact that it’s the semi-finals. 

 

It didn’t take any convincing on Carmilla’s part to get Kirsch to wear the shirt I made for him. He read over it quickly (it said ‘if you think  _I_ can shred, then check out the women’s contests!’ on the back and ‘support all genders!’ on the front,) and immediately put it on, stating that he’d do anything to help his lady-bros out. And apparently it got a great reception, because the recaps on TV that night couldn’t stop talking about it. 

 

They also couldn’t stop talking about how  _“two of the Tour’s most promising female athletes, Laura Hollis and Carmilla Karnstein, were seen snuggled up and exchanging kisses while they watched the vert competition.”_  


Surprisingly, Carm took the attention in stride. 

 

Although she  _did_ say some impressively violent things to a group of guys who decided that we just  _needed_ to know how they’d all be open for threesomes with us. 

Anyway, things have been really,  _really_ good. Part of me is saying that all that that means is things are bound to crash soon, but the larger part is telling that part to stuff it, and just enjoy everything that I can. 

Right now though, my nerves are starting to rear their ugly heads. Like,  _big time._  


“Babe, come sit down. You’ve been pacing around the room for like, at least an hour now. If you pace any more we’re probably going to have to pay room damageto cover up the track you’ve worn in the carpet.” 

Even though Carmilla’s comment makes me smile, I can’t seem to shake myself out of this funk.

 

“No seriously, get that fine ass over here, cupcake.” 

 

Huffing dramatically, I make my way over to the queen size mattress where Carm is sitting. As soon as I’m next to her she begins to rub my shoulders. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help. 

 

“What’s up, nerves?” 

 

I just lean my head against her shoulder and nod, trying not to whimper at all of the horrible scenarios my mind is making up about the contest. She hugs me close and goes ‘aww, babe,’ when I burrow further into her chest.

 

So what? I’m entitled to be pathetic every once in a while.

 

“I’m gonna regret asking this, but what’s wrong?” 

 

Once she gives me that opening I proceed to word vomit all of my fears, ranging from the feasible:  _what if I land wrong and snap my rim or something?_ to the ridiculous:  _bears, Carm! We’re near mountains, what if I get attacked by a bear?!_  


She sits patiently and listens to everything I say, because she’s a fucking trooper. After I’ve worn myself out from my nonstop talking, she reclines against the pillows and pulls me back with her, tucking me against her chest. 

 

“I know I can’t prove it, but everything is gonna be fine, babe. Take my word for it?” 

 

I nod and place a kiss on Carmilla’s collarbone, which is exposed by the oversized muscle shirt she’s currently sporting. When I hear her hum deeply in her throat I do it again, but with an open mouth. 

 

Her hand comes up and tangles in my hair, guiding me up from her throat until my lips meet hers. It’s intense. Like the anticipation of tomorrow is spilling into the moment and I can’t help but go along with it. Neither can Carmilla, apparently. 

 

I tug her onto her side and position myself flat on my back, then pull her by the collar of her shirt until she’s on top of me. 

 

She doesn’t need any more encouragement to spread my legs with one of her own, and my hands shoot down to grip her ass at the first rock of her hips. 

 

“Laura—mmh fuck, i-is this alright?” 

 

She sounds so fucking breathless already. I can’t stand it.

 

“Of course babe, it’s more thanalright,” and then she’s back to kissing me, sweeping her tongue across my bottom lip and stroking hers against mine when I open my mouth in compliance. 

 

I encourage her to rock into me harder, because we still haven’t slept together in the biblical sense yet, and my body has been practically humming for her since we first kissed a little less than two weeks ago. Since way before that, actually. 

 

Basically, I need her, and this time  _nothing_ is going to stop me. 

 

I whine in the back of my throat when she sits up, but then she’s tugging at the hem of my tank top, asking permission. I don’t bother nodding, I just pull it over my head and toss it somewhere across the room. 

 

She groans and that’s when I remember that I’m not wearing a bra. 

 

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. 

 

“God, Laura…” 

 

I quiet her with my mouth and sit up as well. 

 

“Carm, I’m going to need you to take your shirt off, like, right now.” 

 

She grins and does as I’ve asked, and then removes her black lacy bra as well, unprompted.

 

“Fair is fair, right cutie?” 

 

I’ve been with girls before. Or, well,  _girl._ So I know what it’s like to have one half-naked on top of me. But this is so different. It’s like, a Tim Hortons vs. Dunkin Donuts kind of different. And I’m not saying that I can’t appreciate Dunkin Donuts, fuck, I love all doughnuts, but I  _really, really, REALLY_ love Tim Hortons. 

 

In this case, Carmilla is Tim Hortons.

 

Who would have guessed Tim Hortons is even better naked?

 

“You just gonna stare at me all day, or are you planning to do something about it?” 

 

Just like that I’m moving again. Or trying to, at least. 

 

I’d tried to buck my hips and turn us so that I could be on top, but I guess Carmilla has other plans, because she doesn’t budge.

 

When she trails her lips down the column of my throat I hold back a groan, but my efforts are proven useless once she moves her lips and captures a nipple in her mouth, her hand palming my other breast. 

 

I bury my fingers in her hair, urging her to suck as hard as she wants, and my hips have taken up a rhythm of their own, grinding hard up against Carmilla’s thigh. 

 

“Fuck, Carm, p-please touch me,” I wish I could do something to alter my voice, because it’s embarrassingly needy already and we haven’t even gotten to the  _really_ fun part yet.

 

“Anything for you, sweet, first though, I propose we ditch the rest of our clothing. You game?” 

 

I love how she still tries to sound all cool and composed even though her breath is ragged and her words trip over each other every time I press up into her.

 

In a flash, Carmilla is standing up beside the bed and shucking off her tiny running shorts, and I spot the obvious wet patch on the front of her light gray briefs before she’s able to take them off completely. 

 

I know that she knows I saw, if my smug grin isn’t enough to give it away. She rolls her eyes, though her flushed cheeks kind of ruin the effect. 

 

“Yeah yeah, as if you aren’t just as bad as me right now… actually, let’s find out, shall we?” 

 

I struggle to find enough words to reply, because fuck I’m still laying on my back and Carmilla is standing next to me and she’s naked and I can literally fucking  _see_ how wet she is.

 

It’s quite the vision, really. Her short black curls matted with arousal and her inner thighs glistening. Because of  _me._  


 

Then she’s pulling me by my calves until I’m laying horizontally across the bed, my legs just starting to hang off the edge of the mattress. 

 

Her job is easy enough, I’m only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. 

 

She frowns.

 

“No fair cutie, you  _had_  to wear the one color that doesn’t change when wet?” 

 

I can’t decide if the fact that she’s pouting about not being able to see whether my underwear is soaked or not is more adorable or ridiculous. 

 

“So…” she drawls, breaking me from my thoughts, “I guess I’ll just have to figure it out through a more hands on approach”

 

And just like that, she’s cupping my mound and pressing her middle finger up between my folds, and if my boxers weren’t drenched before they definitely are now. 

 

“Mhm, just as I thought,” she uses two fingers to press the fabric harder against me, “you’re fucking soaked, Laura, how would you like me to help you with that?” 

 

I don’t know why, but in all of my fantasies where Carmilla is fucking me, none of them have included her  _asking me_ how I wanted to be taken. 

 

It’s a split second decision, a no-brainer really. 

 

“Y-y-your mouth, fuck, Carm please—”

 

She kisses down my stomach, spending ample time on my hipbones and the area right above where my pubes would be if I let them grow, before running her tongue up and down my slit. I’m sure she can taste me, even through the fabric. 

 

I don’t even get a chance to start panicking about her not liking the way I taste or anything like that, because she hums in the back of her throat as soon as her tongue reaches the damp spot where her fingers had just been.

 

I thread my fingers through her hair again and scratch gently at the back of her scalp, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control. 

 

“Jesus, Laura, you’re fucking delicious,” she mumbles against my center, face still happily nestled between my legs.

 

“Babe, take them off, please, I need you,” I breathe out, and wow, I really thought it would take longer for me to be reduced to begging, but I’ve got a feeling that with Carmilla, this is only the beginning.

 

She shoots me a predatory grin, one that pretty much says ‘I’m going to devour you,’ before standing up, slipping her fingers into my waistband, and tugging the last remaining article of clothing off of my body in one smooth motion. I go to scoot back up the bed to get into my previous position, but Carmilla just grasps me by the ankles once more and pulls me forward until I’m sitting at the edge of the bed again. 

 

Then she’s dropping to her knees and spreading my legs wide, dragging her tongue up the insides of my thighs. 

 

My hands shoot back into Carmilla’s hair at the first touch of her tongue against my folds. She pulls me closer to her face, hands gripping my ass.

 

She’s methodical in her torture, starting by pointing her tongue and running it along my slit in slow repetition, each time pressing a little deeper until finally, fucking  _finally,_ she’s sweeping over my clit. 

 

“Fuck— Carm…” I hum low in my throat, pushing her head down to try and get more of that beautiful friction. 

 

She uses her thumbs to spread my lips, and the cold air of our hotel room is a shock to my system, but just as quickly as the coolness appeared, it vanishes, being replaced by the blistering heat of Carmilla’s flattened tongue sliding inside of me. 

 

She moans and the vibration of it is both too much and not enough, not nearly enough. 

 

I try to keep my hips from bucking up too violently, and Carmilla helps by placing one hand on my pelvis and pushing me back down into the mattress. After what feels like a small eternity of her fucking me with her tongue, she moves back up to my clit and pulls it between her lips. 

 

I can feel my walls start to pulse around nothing, and I know that I’m close. 

 

“C-Carm, fingers! Fuck, fingers please!” 

 

She nods, not breaking the seal she’s formed around my clit, and then I feel the tip of her finger push slightly inside of me, but nothing more follows. 

 

“God damn it, Carmilla! Stop fucking teasing—” she grins up at me, using her thumbs to spread me even wider and lapping hard at my clit, letting me grind into her mouth. I untangle one hand from her hair and reach down blindly until I find the wrist of the hand that she’s currently using to toy with my entrance. With a fair amount of effort I manage to maneuver her hand to thrust into me, but I only accomplish this a few times before she’s pulling away from me completely with a devilish smirk. 

 

“So impatient, cupcake, tell me, what  _exactly_ do you need from me?” 

 

I’m too far gone to give even a singular fuck about modesty, so I start to press my own fingers down, circling myself as I try to gather enough moisture in my mouth to actually talk.

 

Carmilla is staring at my cunt, seemingly entranced by watching me touch myself. 

 

“Eyes up here, Carm,” I say through shallow breaths, “I want you to fuck me with your fingers and your tongue until I come, and I want you to do that right now.” 

 

With that, I pull her back to where I need her to be, and she immediately thrusts two fingers inside of me, picking up a bruising pace. 

 

“Oh my god, Laura, you’re so tight babe, so fucking wet…” 

 

She dips her head back down and pulls my clit into her mouth again, lashing it with her tongue every time she feels me pulse around her fingers. 

 

“I-I’m gonna— oh shit, I’m, hng _—f-fuck, Carm_!” 

 

I look down, just barely able to see her arm pistoning back and forth as she fucks me hard and her head bobbing up and down rhythmically, and then I can’t see, because everything is expanding and condensing all at once and I think maybe I’m dying? 

 

I never thought death would feel so fucking good, though.

—

 

Some unknown amount of time later I begin to register that I’m lying flat on my back and Carmilla is draped across me, her head resting between my breasts as she stares up at my face. Her fingers are still teasing my clit, and it feels like I’m impossibly wet, more so than I’ve ever been. 

 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” 

 

So I’m not dead. That’s a relief. 

 

“J-j-just—” I hold up a finger to indicate that I’ll answer as soon as I’m able to form words again, and wait a few seconds to calm my rapid breathing before opening my mouth again, “just give me a minute to regain feeling in my legs, Karnstein, because then it’s your turn.” 

 


	10. Seattle pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Hollstein is Hollsteining and all is right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the end of this story, guys! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting, you guys always put a smile on my typically frowning face. I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I can't tell if it's because it actually sucks or if I'm just in the 'fuck everything I've ever done' mood. It could be a bit of both, really. 
> 
> Beginning is NSFW.

Even though last night’s escapades have resulted with you being both very, very tired and very, very sore, you’ve never felt more ready to destroy a competition. You’d take the full body fatigue that comes after a night spent with the cupcake any day of the week if it meant you got to be close to her. 

— 

 

_You’re pretty sure she may have legitimately blacked out for a moment, because she didn’t stir at all when you picked her up and moved her so that she was lying correctly on the bed._

_You’re not surprised, either. If the decent-sized wet patch on the comforter and the unbelievable tightness of her walls when they pulsed around your fingers is any indication, it was one hell of a fucking orgasm. The fact that you’re still playing with her clit probably isn’t helping her cool down, either._

_A few minutes of recuperation later, and she’s finally ready to make good on her little ‘you’re next’ comment._

  
_She rolls you onto your back, and it takes your breath away, once again, being on the receiving end of her strength. When she straddles you it feels familiar and completely new all at the same time. She’s been in this position before, but you’ve never been able to_ feel _her, wet and hot and sticky against your abs._  


_Slowly, Laura beings to grind against your stomach while she cups both of your breasts and leans down to kiss you._

_You can feel her all over you and it’s nothing short of divine._

_“God Carm, have I ever mentioned how much I love having you underneath me?”_

_She moans this and you chuckle, gripping her hips and helping her rock against you harder._

_“The feeling’s mutual, cupcake,” you emphasize your words by arching into her palms, using one of your hands to guide her fingers until they’re pinching and pulling at a nipple._

_Soon she’s shimmying her way down your body, her slick heat finding a new home atop your thigh, and then her fingers are spreading you open and you know you just got wetter because you can feel your arousal almost dripping from your center._

_You stare at Laura, observing the way her blush has painted her face and chest red and how she’s staring with undivided attention at the place where her fingers are currently stroking you._

_“Cutie, come on, fuck me—” your whiny demand is cut off with a gasp as she sinks one finger, and then a second, inside of you._

_Your muscles clamp down on her immediately and she glances up at you with a teasing smile._

_“Relax Carm, I’m gonna need these fingers to stay on my hand if you want me to see to you properly.”_

  
_“Hardy har har cupcake, you’re fucking hilarious, now please for the love of god_ fuck me.” 

 

_You try to sound aloof and detached but the sentiment doesn’t really come through when you’re breathing this hard and your voice is so low in your throat._

_She raises an eyebrow in challenge._

_And then she fucks you._

  
_It feels like she spends hours between your thighs, days even, slamming her fingers into you and pressing her thumb down hard against your clit. Your legs are bent at the knees, pulled up towards your chest to allow her deeper access inside of you, and you’re close, you’re so so_ so  _fucking close._  


 

_“L-Laura— fuck! Curl your fingers babe, oh shit, harder,” you beg her between harsh gasps and low groans._

_“Carm, my hand is gonna fall off, fuck, flip over,” the intention of her words doesn’t register in your mind, not really, so you follow her instructions blindly and with shaky limbs until you’re on your hands and knees in front of her._

_You feel her hands grab tightly on the lowest part of your waist and she exhales sharply; you’re almost positive it’s at the sight of you looking so fucking desperate. She nudges your thighs apart with her knee and then she’s thrusting back into you, using three fingers this time._

_“Oh my holy fucking— FUCK!”_

  
_You here her choke out a giggle at your exclamation but you don’t fucking care, you_ couldn’t  _care, not when she’s the one pounding you ruthlessly from behind until you’re losing all sense of the world around you. Your surroundings become a blur, and nothing matters, nothing but the blinding white heat stemming from your center and electrifying your entire body._  


_You sink down until you’re only supported by your knees and one forearm, your free hand reaching down your body to rub frantically at your clit. You’re so wet it’s a struggle to keep your fingertips from slipping off their mark, and you whine each time Laura’s thrusting forces your fingers to be displaced._

_“Come on Carm, you’re so fucking tight for me, sweetheart, just let go…”_

_A few thrusts later you do._

_You shove your face against the comforter to stifle the high pitched needy sounds that are spilling out of your mouth as Laura slows her pace to let you ride out the high from your orgasm. You collapse onto your stomach, knees bent and skewed beneath you, and the feeling of Laura falling down on top of you follows. She rests her head on the small of your back, placing scattered kisses on the sweaty skin, and when her fingers twitch you realize that she’s still inside of you._

  
_You usually aren’t able to come two times in a row, but as soon as you feel her moving within you it’s clear that this thing with Laura is anything but_ usual _._  


_“Jesus sweetheart, if you keep doing that you’re gonna make me come again,” your voice is nothing but a soft rasp, and when Laura replies you hear that hers is almost just as hoarse._

_“That’s kind of the plan, babe.”_

_She flips you over onto your back and continues to finger you, but she’s going slower and deeper now, and it’s working you up in all the right ways. It must be working for Laura too, because she’s gone back to straddling your thigh and holy shit if you thought she was wet before…_

_That’s when you get an idea._

_“L-Laura,” you have to pause when she swipes her thumb over your clit, "turn around cupcake, get on top of me.” You help her maneuver until her pussy is positioned directly above your mouth, and then you crane your neck up and dive right in._

_“CARM—”_

_Was she seriously not expecting that?_

_“You alright babe?” you ask her with your lips centimeters from her core._

_“Y-y-yeah, j-just wasn’t expecting that…”_

_Well, that answers your earlier question._

_“Really creampuff? As stunning as the view is, it isn’t the only reason we’re in this position.”_

_There’s a second of silence._

_“Oh… OH! So uh, w-what’s the plan, then?”_

_What’s the plan? God, you would smack yourself in the forehead at her obliviousness if you could, but one hand is holding her thigh and the other is dipping inside of her so you’ll have to make do with rolling your eyes._

  
_“The plan_ ,  _my darling, is for_ me _to eat_ your _cunt,_ _while_ you _eat_ mine,” you give one slow lick between her folds to emphasize your point. 

_“Carmilla,” she squeaks, "don’t be so vulgar!”_

_This girl. Seriously._

  
_“Laura, my mouth is_ literally  _on your vagina. I’m not being vulgar, I’m being accurate.”_  


_She tries to give you an annoyed huff, but it turns into a strained whine when you resume your licking and thrusting. You can feel her forehead resting against your inner thigh and her shallow breaths puffing against your center, and you think she maybe forgot 'the plan,’ so you buck your hips up gently. In a second, there are fingers inside of you and a tongue swirling around your clit._

_“Mmh fuck Carm, you taste so good…”_

_You don’t reply verbally, you just grin breathlessly against her folds before resuming your lapping with methodical enthusiasm._

_Sixty-nineing might not be the most effective sex position, but it sure as hell is fun._

_She’s matching your pace thrust for thrust, and when you switch roles with your fingers and mouth, you can feel her steadiness falter._

_With your tongue thrusting and licking into her pussy and your thumb pressing her clit in tight circles, it doesn’t take long for her to come. A new flood of wetnesses drips down your chin and she moans loudly against your cunt, picking up her pace until you’re falling over the edge behind her._

_—————————————————_

You’re standing behind the BMX street course with Laura, waiting for her competition to begin. She’s sat on the absurdly low seat of her bicycle, and you’re slouched on her back with your arms wrapped around her waist and your head on her shoulder. 

 

You begin trailing hot kisses down her neck, which, happily, is exposed (for your viewing pleasure) by the loose white V-neck she’s wearing. 

 

“Babeee,” she whines, “this is  _so_ not the time for you to start pulling your seductress moves.” 

 

You watch as she squirms on her seat, the inseam of her black skinny jeans rubbing against it, mindlessly looking for any form of friction that’ll relieve her tension. 

 

“Be happy that you aren’t wearing white pants too, cupcake. You’d be soaked right through them. Although if that were the case, I’m sure everyone would enjoy watching you ride even more than they already do…” 

 

"Carm!” She swats at the arms you’ve got wrapped around her torso, but makes no move to stop your advances. 

 

“Alright, alright. Stop your wiggling, I can’t have you getting all chafed up, sundance,” you loosen your grip and step in front of the bike so you can look into her eyes. “You’ve got this, Laura, I know you do. Just go out there, ride exactly like you have been, and show everyone that you can and will beat their asses.” 

 

She smiles up at you softly before scrunching up her face in that way you find entirely too adorable. 

 

“Thanks babe, no ass beating though, I’m a pacifist.” She smiles proudly at you. 

 

You roll your eyes.

 

“Of course you are, buttercup…” 

 

When the riders are called to get onto the course you leave Laura with a deep kiss, earning the two of you quite a bit of friendly catcalling and a handful of camera flashes, but you don’t care. 

 

“Good luck,” you whisper against her lips. 

 

She just nods and readjusts her beanie, which matches the deep red hue of her shoes, before she smiles and mouths a ‘thank you’ in your direction. 

———————————

 

It’s the third and final heat of the semi-finals for women’s BMX streetstyle, and the stakes are higher now than ever. Only the first place rider is guaranteed to move on to the finals, where they compete with the ten other riders who’ve gotten the highest scores on individual runs during the entirety of the tour. It’s a strange set up honestly, and not one you’re particularly fond of, but rules are rules. 

 

Right now Laura and the gold medalist from Vancouver, you think her name might be Mel, are neck and neck at the top of the score board. Laura has a combined score of 15.4 and Mel's at a close 15.5, but you know that your cupcake can win this. Apparently she’s been working with Lafontaine in secret, practicing a couple of tricks that’ll pretty much make the judges come in their pants. She'd said she was keeping them stored up for situations just like the one she’s in now. 

 

It seems like it takes an eternity for Laura’s turn to come, and when it does it feels like it lasts even longer.

 

She starts strong, doing a nose wheelie along the length of the top deck of the first quarter pipe before shoving her sneaker against her front tire and getting into the position that she was in when her and Laf were having that balance competition back in Vancouver, her body and bike leaning precariously into the pipe. In a quick maneuver that seemed to defy gravity, she stands with her foot still jammed on the front tire and completes a solid nose jam tailwhip, before hopping out of the stall, throwing a quick barspin, and landing in the ramp smoothly.

 

You watch with a massive grin as Laura rides from obstacle to obstacle, getting ridiculously technical wherever she can to rack up points with the judges. You also notice how the cameras that are supposed to be filming Laura’s run from every angle have spent a fair amount of time sweeping into the stands and zooming in on you. You can’t bring yourself to care. 

 

Although you  _do_ throw in a glare or two for good measure. 

 

When Laura gets to the point of her run where she only has time for either one big trick or a series of two or three smaller ones, you can tell something is different. She has this smile that’s one part secretive, two parts smug, and just generally excited. She’s gonna pull out one of her new moves, you know it.

 

While you’re completely confident in your girl’s abilities, your heart jumps into your throat when you see which obstacle she’s choosing to execute it on. 

 

This course setup is a little bit different than the previous ones; instead of having a two or three leveled park where each level is still technically grounded, this one has two base levels and a roof level that you can only get to with a ton of speed. The roof, which is slanted down and angles back into the main sections of the park, has a short but steep quarter pipe at the back where the level is at its highest, and a small kicker ramp built into the edge of the roof itself that competitors could hypothetically launch from and land on the slightly angled bank below. It's probably a solid fifteen foot drop, and the fact that hitting the spot means literally jumping off a roof was definitely intimidating, seeing as none of the other riders had even approached it yet. 

 

So there you are, stuck between the conflicting feelings of  _‘fuck yeah Laura can do this’_ and  _‘I don’t think I could handle seeing her get hurt,’_ but she’s riding fast up the nearly vertical ramp that gaps to the roof, and you can’t do anything else besides watch. 

 

Laura gets onto the roof and immediately goes for the quarter pipe. She hits it with the perfect amount of speed and pulls off a quick tailwhip with ease, returning into the ramp riding backwards. She’s looking over her shoulder with a serious expression on her face, and when she reaches the halfway point between the rooftop quarter and kicker ramps, she hops into the air and spins 180 degrees to her left, adding an impressively clean busdriver, a move that she’d described to you as “the barspin’s shitty, more difficult cousin,” into the mix before she lands and continues riding forward towards the edge of the roof. 

 

You’re confused for a split second when she starts to go into her final trick, because she seems to be leaning forward at a strange angle, and then she’s hitting the very lip of the rooftop kicker ramp and slamming down on her front breaks, using the inertia of her approach and what you know firsthand is an impressive amount of core strength to launch out and tuck into a frontflip. 

 

When her wheels touch down with a resounding thud her knees only bend and wobble the slightest amount at the impact, and before you can fully comprehend what  _the fuck_  just happened, the ending horn is blowing and Laura is jumping off her bike, letting it ghost ride into a wall as she does a proud little strut-and-fist-pump-combo-dance like a total fucking dweeb. 

 

Her time on the roof couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to you. 

 

When her score gets revealed the crowd fucking  _explodes,_ and you know that nearly every camera in the arena is following you as you hop from the bleachers, walk calmly to the waiting area where Laura is standing and staring at the judges table with wide eyes and a slack jaw, pull her by the collar of her shirt until she’s pressed up against you, and kiss her until you’re both breathless. 

 

9.1

 

Everyone knows that there isn’t a chance in hell her score can be topped. 

 

Your girl is going to the finals. 

————

 

Your competition, on the other hand, is not nearly as nerve-wracking and intense as Laura’s. 

 

In fact, it’s a bit of a letdown, really. 

 

You don’t know why, maybe it’s just the water in Seattle, but all of the other skaters were being fucking lame. Like, the boring-and-predictable-and-safe kind of lame. 

 

You couldn’t even take much pride in the moment when you came in first place. Watching the competition replay on TV that night, you actually see yourself shrug and give a ‘well that was weird and underwhelming’ face when you’re announced the winner. 

 

Laura was still proud of you though. Very,  _very_ proud. 

 

And apparently your girlfriend likes to reward you for your victories with oral, so at least  _something_  exciting came out of the comp. 

 

Also, she found your bag-o-sex-toys (which is an exaggeration, really, there's only a fucking strap-on and a tiny vibrator) when she was rooting through your drawers for a pair of socks, and she may have mentioned being more than onboard with giving them a go. So that’s cool. Like,  _really_  cool. 

 

Kirsch and Laf are competing tomorrow, and maybe big red and Curly Sue are, too, but you don’t really pay attention to their schedules so you can’t be sure. Regardless, you’ll find out tomorrow if “the gang,” as Laura so lovingly calls all of you, will be staying together and moving on towards the finals, or if someone’s going home. 

 

You hope it’s the former, but honestly, you think you’ll be fine as long as Laura is by your side. 


	11. Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the gang goes to Chicago and shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, if you're reading this, thank you for sticking with me! This story is winding down to a close, only one or two more chapters left :O This chapter is a bit longer than usual, I was gonna leave it as a cliff hanger but I decided against that.
> 
> CW for injury and sex 
> 
> oh and also, an "edit" is basically just skate-lingo for a short video

Carmilla and Kirsch were genuinely surprised that I’d never been to Chicago before. In fact, the two of them were acting particularly affronted about it, as if my never having been to Chicago offended them personally. 

 

I’m guessing that the offense is false on Carmilla’s part though, based on the way that she pulls this ridiculous face where her chin is tucked into her neck and her lips are angled down in an exaggerated grimace every time she catches my eye during Kirsch’s rant. 

 

Apparently living in Toronto leaves little room for excuses to be made about not wanting to travel. According to Kirsch, him and Carmilla have done the day long road trip to the Windy City "like, a gazillion times, little bro-hottie!” 

 

Regardless, I’m just happy to be here at all. And I’m especially happy that the gang managed to stay together all the way to the finals! 

 

Lafontaine got through with relative ease, as did Perry and Danny. It was a little touch and go for a while with Kirsch; some weasel of a guy named Theo nearly beat him out of medalling, but luckily the asshole took care of the issue himself when he got overconfident and went for back to back McTwists. Let’s just say that the landing of his first McTwist was sloppy at best, and he slammed so hard on the second one that he’ll be eating through a tube for the foreseeable future. 

 

I might not be the type of person who wishes bodily harm upon others, but Theo is a  _serious_ douche. Plus, his jaw will heal eventually.

 

And Carm, well she won her competition so easily it was almost embarrassing. For the other competitors, that is. 

 

Anyway, here we are! When we’d finally gotten into the city I’d happily exclaimed “Bring it on, Windy City, Laura Hollis is here!” which earned me a collective eye roll from the group and a “Jesus Frosh, you’re a fucking dweeb,” from Lafontaine. 

 

I didn’t let them rain on my parade though! I have every right to be excited, we’ve got ten whole days to explore before the finals actually start, and I know that Laf and Carmilla have already been talking about what street spots they wanted to check out; apparently Lafontaine is trying to film a Chicago edit for Carmilla, which should be fun. 

— 

Everyone spends the first night gathered in the hotel room assigned to Carm and I because we lucked out and got a corner room, which means that it’s the size of almost two normal rooms put together.

 

While I’m obviously happy to have gotten a bigger room, my gorgeous but grumpy girlfriend is less than pleased at the situation. Not because she wanted a small room, but because the larger size makes it the ideal space for socializing, of which she is  _clearly_ not a fan. 

 

By midnight she’s already attempting to herd out our friends, which is, unsurprisingly,  _not_ an easy task. 

 

“What the hell, Morticia? It’s not even late yet—”

 

“Doesn’t matter to me, Agent Orange, I’ve got better things to do than hang around with you all.”

 

Danny makes an offended face, Kirsch looks completely used to this kind of behavior, Perry sits quietly and fidgets with her turtleneck, and Lafontaine looks far too amused.

 

“Oh yeah?” Danny probes, “do tell, what exactly are these  _better things_ that you have to do?”

 

Carmilla’s face slowly morphed into a lascivious grin, and based on her expression and the way that she’s been trailing her fingers up my leg until I squirm, I pretty much know exactly what she was going to reply with. 

 

“Well gigantor, I’m feeling rather peckish, and if the cupcake’s current wriggling is anything to go by, I don’t think she’d be opposed to me finding something to eat.” 

 

I’m blushing profusely behind my hands, because yeah, Carm isn’t wrong; I definitely would be more than alright with everyone leaving so we can indulge in activities that are infinitely better when naked. 

Still though, she didn’t have to phrase it  _quite_  like that.  

 

I refuse to open my eyes, instead choosing to bury my face into Carmilla’s neck and groan, swatting at her leg uselessly. 

 

Just as I hear Danny begin to stutter some form of retort, Perry’s mildly frantic voice rings out and saves the day. Or night. Whatever.

 

“On that note, I think we should all be heading to bed now, don’t you agree Lafontaine?!?” 

 

“Uh yeah sure, totally.”

 

The sound of feet shuffling against carpet follows, then the door opens and closes, leaving Carm and I in silence. 

 

“So creampuff, how about it?” 

 

God, her smugness is so palpable I can almost taste it. 

 

I don’t reply, seeing as I’m a responsible adult and not a smug-enabler, and instead untuck myself from the crook of her neck and stand up.

 

“Got an answer for me, cutie?” 

 

Turning around so I can face her, I make sure to keep my expression blank. After a moment I raise an eyebrow and start tugging off my pants. 

 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Karnstein.”   

 

I flop onto our bed and she follows me, grinning. 

—————————————

 

Day 2 in Chicago starts with an underwhelming hotel breakfast buffet, where Kirsch manages to eat his weight in runny scrambled eggs, Lafontaine builds a two foot tower out of stale slices of bread, Perry knocks said tower over while straightening the table cloth, and Danny steadfastly ignores Carmilla’s jabs about how she’s 'still full from last night' and ‘can’t possibly eat another bite.’ 

 

So all in all, it’s a standard morning on tour. 

 

Once breakfast is over Lafontaine, Carmilla, and I get ready to go out and film some street skating.

 

We set off from the hotel, Lafontaine at the front, riding along slowly with their backpack full of video equipment slung over one shoulder. I walk behind them, leading my bike with one hand and Carmilla with the other. Carmilla, who, based on her grumbling, seems to be barely clinging to consciousness, carries her board tucked beneath her free arm and has a tattered messenger bag draped across her back. We immediately start drawing the attention of the jogging-stroller-moms and businessmen with suits and briefcases worth more than my life that occupy the streets at such an early hour.

 

I guess we should have thought harder about blending in, we stick out like three sore gay thumbs in the sea of morning commuters. Hopefully we’ll be able to find some good spots without drawing unwanted attention from police and overzealous security guards, too. 

—— 

The first spot we find is nice, nothing outrageous. It’s a curved solid concrete bench, the seat level reaching up to around mid-thigh height and the backrest portion stopping a little bit higher than my waist. The whole thing is probably about 30 or 40 feet long, and it spans the perimeter of a small business park. Thankfully, it seems pretty deserted.

 

Lafontaine sets up their camera on a tripod that’s seen better days, and starts ordering me and Carm around as soon as they get all of the video settings right. 

 

“Alrighty, Frosh and Leather McBroodypants, gather round!” 

 

Carmilla rolls her eyes and flips Laf off and I have to consciously try to hold back my laughter. 

 

“Perfect, thank you Carmilla, the camera is loving this.” 

 

We look over towards Laf and find that they’ve taken the camera off of the tripod and have it hiked onto their shoulder instead. Oh no. I know what’s coming next. 

 

“Laf, don’t even think about it—”

 

“And here we see two useless lesbians in their natural habitat,” they adopt a ridiculous Australian accent and begin to walk in slow circles around me and Carmilla, holding the camera steady with one arm and using the other to crank an imaginary film reel. 

 

“Cupcake,” Carmilla leans down to speak quietly in my ear, “I think your friend is broken. What the fuck are they doing?” 

 

I laugh and lean up to press a quick kiss to her lips. 

 

“They’re pretending that they’re the crocodile hunter or something. I’ve learned the hard way that putting Lafontaine behind a camera always ends in one of two ways.”

 

Carmilla raises an eyebrow skeptically and motions for me to continue.

 

"One, they get all bossy and cinematic and become the short red version of Wes Anderson, or two, they make a totally absurd mockumentary, complete with inaccurate Australian lingo and an overuse of the word ‘crikey.’” 

 

Carmilla just blows out a sigh against my neck and drops her head to rest on my shoulder. 

 

“So this should be fun.”     

 

“Crikey! If you watch closely here you can start to see the smaller gay attempt to console her mate …” 

———

It took a few minutes, but Carmilla eventually got Laf to actually film and stop shouting “Straya!” 

 

We didn’t stay at the ledge spot for long, thanks to a stern but fair security guard who let us film two tricks each before making us leave. 

 

Lafontaine managed to get some solid footage though. The clip of Carmilla’s line, a perfectly stylish kickflip to manual onto the lower section then a pop shuvit tail slide on the high ledge, looked awesome even on the camera’s small playback screen. 

I stuck with a fairly simple combo, a feeble grind across the high ledge with a tailwhip out. Laf shot it from an angle that made it look huge though, so all in all, I’m happy with it. 

 

After about an hour of roaming around the city and getting stink-eyed from pretty much every security guard and police officer we passed, Carm found a spot that she  _demanded_  we stop for. 

 

The layout was perfect, really. It was a gap that, in all honestly, probably should have been fenced off. The spot itself consisted of a long paved area behind an elevated storage facility, which only had a knee high guard rail at the edge of the perimeter to keep people from accidentally falling about fifteen or so feet down into the parking lot of an abandoned deli below. What made this particular gap so enticing was the fact that the asphalt lot below the drop was steeply angled where it met the wall of the storage facility’s foundation. It was basically the most perfect naturally occurring gap to bank ramp that I’ve ever seen.  

 

It was something that, under normal circumstances, Lafontaine and I would be ecstatic to find. However, these aren’t normal circumstances. We’re at the last stop of the Dew Tour, days away from competing in a contest that could very well put us on the fast track to going pro. In all honestly, I can’t afford to risk getting worked over by a street spot when I need to be in tiptop condition for the comp. 

 

When I share these concerns with Carmilla though, she promptly dismisses them. 

 

“Listen sweet, I understand your concerns,” she starts, “but I  _need_ to hit this spot. Like, it’s calling to me. Plus, imagine the reaction it’ll get if Laf gets the trick on film?” 

 

I sigh, because yeah, I do get it. I know, better than most, really, what it’s like to have a spot call to you. That level of want and excitement is almost unparalleled. I think the closest comparable feeling would be the desperation of getting left hanging on the edge of an orgasm. 

 

I press Carmilla against the wall that she’ll soon be skating off of and pull her bottom lip into my mouth. Sucking slightly, I grin when she gives me a needy whimper. 

 

“Alright Carm, I believe in you. Just... be safe. And I’m limiting you to three attempts, okay? I’m not letting you spend the entire day here.” 

 

“Aye aye, cutie, now…” grinning, she pulls me by my hips until I’m flush against her, “a kiss for good luck?” 

—— 

A few minutes of deliriously hot kissing later, Lafontaine’s voice is pulling us apart. 

 

“Hey homos, as much as I’m loving the girl on girl, I’d really like to get this shit done. Carmilla, how’re we doing this?” 

 

Carmilla just laughs it off and gives me a final peck before jogging over to Lafontaine. 

 

“I’m thinking I’ll ollie it first, just to get a feel for it, then a 180 heelflip?”

 

“Sounds good to me, Karnstein, the camera is good to go, so get your ass moving!” 

 

With a quick salute to Laf, she’s skating away to where she’s starting the run from. 

 

I stand next to Lafontaine and peer down at the camera’s viewfinder, satisfied to find it set up at the perfect angle to capture the trick. 

 

After a minute, we hear Carmilla giving a shout for Laf to start filming. 

 

I step back to get a wider view of everything and spot Carm skating smoothly towards the guard rail. The determination on her face is blatant, and I can’t stop the smile that makes its way onto my face because holy hufflepuff,  _I’m the one who gets to kiss this girl._  


She ollies a few feet before the guard rail comes up and clears it easily. Within seconds she’s landing into the slight curve of the asphalt bank below, crouching down low to absorb the impact before straightening up and skidding to a stop in front of us. 

“Shit Karnstein, that looked awesome! You good for the 180 heel?” 

Carmilla shoots a wink at me and nods to Lafontaine. 

“Fuck yeah, just keep filming.” 

 

Hyped up on adrenaline from the jump, Carmilla skates back to the starting point. She’s shaking out her legs and doing a quick stretch when I spot a group of maybe six or seven kids approaching.

 

They’re relatively scrawny and look like they can’t be older than fourteen, so I deem them harmless and turn back to watch my girlfriend. 

 

She’s speeding towards the guard rail once again, going faster than the first time, and I watch as she bends down in preparation. 

 

And then it’s like I’m watching everything in slow motion. 

 

Carmilla crouching and pumping her knees a final time.

The tail of her board connecting with the ground as she pops into the air. 

Her front foot beginning to kick the board into a perfect heelflip.

How, right as she’s turning her body for the 180, one of the boys from the crowd runs towards her with his camera-phone pointed at her. 

The way that her body physically jolts from the shock of his sudden appearance. 

The look of panicked realization that she’s under-rotated and there’s nothing she can do to fix it.  

 

When her wheels make contact with the ground, she’s securely on top of the board. Only, she doesn’t land straight. Her under-rotation caused her to land parallel to the wall, not perpendicular like she needed to be. 

 

The sound of her wheels biting into the asphalt is almost as deafening as the snap her wrist makes when momentum throws her backwards off of the board and leaves her slamming against the ground

 

I don’t need any kind of slow motion replay to see the sickening angle her left hand is twisted at.

 

Everything speeds back up abruptly, then. 

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!? Call 911, right now!” 

Lafontaine’s voice is a mixture of authoritative and frantic as they shout at the group of boys. It seems to spring them into action, because within seconds two have whipped out their phones to call the police and the others have hopped down into the parking lot and begun to run towards me, quickly gathering the board and one of her shoes that flew off at the impact. They place her belongings down near Lafontaine’s camera and stand a few feet away, all of them ashen faced. 

 

I hardly even realize that I’ve somehow made it to Carmilla’s side, kneeling down and cradling her upper body in my lap. 

 

Her eyes flutter open and for a split second she seems completely conscious.

 

“Well that was a kick…” 

 

She shoots me a crooked, bloody grin and then she’s out cold. 

————————————————

The doctors said that if she’d landed any harder bone definitely would have broken through skin. Thankfully though, they were able to set the bone back into place and secure it with a cast, no drilling or plates necessary.

 

So we’re lucky, really. In total, Carmilla got away with a fractured left wrist, some pretty bad road rash on the backs of her forearms, and a severely bruised shoulder. Oh, and I guess she bit her tongue when she landed, hence the lovely bloodstained grin she gave me earlier. The extent of her injuries aren’t even enough to warrant her having to stay overnight, which I can assure you I am incredibly happy about.  

 

She regained consciousness in the back of the ambulance briefly, but didn’t manage to say anything more than my name and ‘don’t leave.’ 

 

And I didn’t, I won’t. I haven’t left her side since she fell. I mean, if we’re not counting two bathroom breaks, a run to the nearest vending machine, and when I had to walk Lafontaine out, that is. 

 

She had to be put back under anesthesia while her wrist was reset and her wounds were cleaned, but the nurse said she should be waking up any minute now. 

 

Hopefully she wakes up sooner rather than later, because the chair next to her bed that I’ve been occupying for almost three hours is starting to actually reform the shape of my ass into a perfect rectangle. 

          

“Laura?” 

 

Jesus! I didn’t expect her voice to be this raspy. Moving quickly, I fill a small paper cup with water and bring it to her lips. She drinks it gratefully and when I make to pull away and refill it her grip on my elbow doesn’t let me. 

 

“Stay, please cupcake,” 

 

“I will Carm, I promise.” 

 

A few tugs and a horrific screeching noise later, my shitty chair is officially repositioned as close to Carmilla’s bed as physically possible. 

 

“So how’re you feeling babe?” 

 

She moves her head from side to side and makes an exaggerated thinking face before giving me a gentle smile and bringing my hand to her lips. She kisses it lightly and settles our clasped hands into her lap. 

 

“All things considered, not that bad.” 

 

“Yeah? Because that fall looked  _seriously_ gnarly Carm, I was so fucking worried—”

 

Damnit, I told myself I wouldn’t choke up. She needs my support right now, not any hysterical girlfriend antics. It’s just hard though, with BMX and skateboarding, we learn to be constantly aware of potential physical danger, but I never really expect it to happen. Who can be prepared to see their girlfriend’s body slam to the ground from a fifteen foot drop? Seeing someone you care about get hurt is terrifying, no matter what the circumstances are. 

 

“Sweetheart no, Laura come here,” she tugs me forward until I’m forced to sit beside her on the small hospital bed and uses her good arm to pull me against her chest. 

 

“Baby I’m so sorry, I should’ve listened to you, if I did then we wouldn’t even be in this fucking place.” 

 

She looks so guilty, it’s the opposite of how I want her to feel. 

 

“Carm stop, you know that isn’t true. You got startled by those kids, and I’m sure they didn’t mean for that to happen either. It’s nobody’s fault, alright? Plus, we’re gonna be out of here soon enough, then you’ll be able to rest for a few days in our nice warm hotel bed.”

 

Soon enough her guilty expression is gone, in its place is the face she makes when she’s about to start something wildly inappropriate. 

 

“I could probably use a few days of bed rest… will you be playing the role of live-in nurse, then? Because I can think of quite a few jobs for you.” 

 

At that she begins to plant openmouthed kisses up my throat, and yeah I know we’re in  hospital and she’s injured and I really should be more concerned about the amount of blood on my clothing but fuck, she  _really_ knows how to work a girl up. 

 

Our lips connect and I’m forced to roll onto my side to keep them together, which makes Carmilla hum happily into my mouth. 

 

I separate our mouths for a second to reply, “You know I’m more than happy to take care of you, Carm, you tell me what you need and I’ll do it,” I try my hand at sounding seductive, but in all honesty it probably comes off more like the beginning of a bad porno.  

              

She grins against my lips nonetheless, “In that case, nurse Hollis, I’ve got this ache that I just can’t seem to take care of…” 

 

I stifle a laugh and let her lead our clasped hands down below the thin hospital-issued blanket until they’re resting on the button of her jeans. 

 

I’ve just popped them open when the nurse from earlier comes back. Quickly, I move so I’m sitting up a little straighter and go to pull my hand back into my own lap, but Carmilla refuses to let it go so I just angle my body a little to shield it from view instead. 

 

“Hello miss Karnstein, I’m glad to see you’re awake! We’ve just got to check your vitals in…” the nurse looked down to her watch and then quickly made a few notes on her clipboard, “about fifteen minutes. As long as everything seems normal, you’ll be discharged shortly after that.” 

 

Carmilla and I nod along to what the nurse is saying, and once she leaves the room I move to retrieve my hand from where it was resting just underneath the waistband of Carmilla’s pants. 

 

Her fingers around my wrist prevent me from doing so, again. 

 

“Excuse you, Hollis, I do believe that you have an ache to attend to?” 

 

“Seriously Carm? She’s coming back in fifteen minutes.” 

 

“And I should be coming in ten. See? Works out perfectly.”

 

My jaw drops and Carmilla just grins smugly. 

 

Fine. 

Challenge accepted. 

 

I waste no time in sliding my hand down further, quickly brushing through damp curls until my fingers are met with the wet heat that I’ve come to expect from my apparently always horny girlfriend. 

 

She exhales shakily, “fuck cupcake, I knew you had it in you…” 

 

“More like you knew you’d have me in you,” I mutter under my breath with a smirk.

 

Carmilla buries her face in the crook of my neck and breathes out a laugh, “Very clever cutie, very clev—hng!”

 

Before she can finish talking I push two fingers inside of her, tangling my free hand carefully in her hair and guiding her lips against mine. 

 

Carmilla tries unsuccessfully to shimmy her pants lower on her hips and whimpers angrily when I have to pull my fingers out of her to help get those damn pants down. As soon as her pants are pulled down enough for her to move, Carmilla is spreading her legs and guiding my hand back to her cunt. 

 

I slow down to tease her then, using two fingers to spread her lips before gently stroking her clit. Her hips are jerking up into my hand with every stroke and I can feel her hot breath panting out roughly against my neck. 

 

She’s groaning low in her throat and covering my hand with her one good one, pressing down for more friction. 

 

“Laura, come on please baby—”

 

In the back of my mind I vaguely register the fact that the nurse might be back at any minute. Also, there’s an annoying beeping noise that’s getting faster and faster. I choose to ignore both in favor of fucking Carmilla though. 

 

I slip two fingers back inside of her without warning and pick up a punishing pace. The sound of me thrusting into her is addictive, and after a few more pumps I pull out and enter her again with three. 

 

“Fuck!” 

 

Carmilla’s voice is nothing more than a raspy squeak at this point, and I know she’s close. 

 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—mmm—Laura please!”

 

My forearm is starting to burn and it’s getting harder to move my fingers as Carmilla starts to flutter and pulse around them. She bites down on my shoulder briefly before slamming her head back against the pillow and biting down on her own hand to muffle herself. 

 

Carmilla’s walls are grasping my fingers so tightly that I have to give up on thrusting, so I press around inside of her until I feel her g-spot beneath my fingertips. As soon as I feel it I start to pulse against it rhythmically.

 

Her back arches then, and her legs straighten out, heels digging into the mattress pad and pulling her body tight like a bowstring. 

 

In that moment, where Carmilla becomes a silent gasping wreck and my fingers are pushed deep into her cunt, I finally realize that the incessant beeping noise is coming from her heart monitor. 

 

Shit. 

 

As the peak of Carmilla’s orgasm hits she tightens her legs and traps my hand between her thighs. Her good hand flails to the side and grasps tightly onto the railing of the bed and she burrows her face into my neck once more, gasping out little cries as it washes over her. 

 

This moment would be perfect if it weren’t for the alarmingly fast beep of the machine tracking Carmilla’s pulse and the sharp slap of feet hurrying down the linoleum hallway to our room. 

 

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit Carm!” 

 

I’m covering her mouth with one hand and yanking up her pants with the other. 

Never in my life did I think I would actually be cursing the tightness of Carmilla Karnstein’s jeans. 

 

She’s looking at me with hazy confused eyes and raised eyebrows, her bangs sticking to her sweaty forehead. I, with all the finesse of an epileptic goat, am jerking my head towards the open door of the hospital room, where the echo of footsteps is steadily growing louder. 

 

Carmilla ignores my clear warning, and instead sucks two of my fingers into her mouth, lapping at them till they’re free of her wetness. 

 

I’m screaming internally and the rant going through my mind is basically  _no you gorgeous fucking idiot my hand is not over your mouth because I want you to lick up your cum even though that_ was _incredibly hot I’m trying to tell you that your orgasm set off your fucking heart monitor and now there are nurses running in here to save your supposedly dying ass so get your shit together before we get caught and arrested for public indecency oh god I’m too young to go to jail—_  


 

“Miss Hollis, Miss Karnstein,” one of the nurses from earlier pants out, “is everything alright?!” 

 

“Yup, we’re all good here. Although this wire kind of got pulled out of me. Is that why this thing is making so much noise?” 

 

I’m baffled. Completely fucking baffled. 

 

What is Carmilla talking about and how the hell does she sound so composed?

 

I whip around to stare at her; besides a slight flush, she’s the fucking picture of innocence. I follow her line of sight down to her hand, which is holding the wire that had been in her arm just seconds ago. Its unconnected and there’s a small trail of blood trickling out from where she must of hastily yanked it from. 

 

My eyes dart between her hand and her face. God damn she looks smug. 

 

“That… uhm, yes, that must be it…” 

 

The nurse looks between us suspiciously before turning off the machine and starting to walk out of the room. 

 

“My shift is over. Another nurse should be in momentarily to take your vitals and give you your discharge papers.  _Please_ refrain from any… strenuous activity while you wait for her to arrive.” 

 

“Of—of course! No strenuous activity here, nope, none at all. No action. I mean activity. I’ll stop now.” I squeak out. 

 

The nurse gives us one last look before leaving. This time she shuts the door behind her.

 

“Smooth, sundance, smooth.”


	12. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the final competitions and a whole lot of smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, anyone who still might be reading! Sorry I missed my Saturday deadline, I've been traveling all week and didn't have the time to write. I also got pretty down on myself because everyone else has been producing such incredible stories, and I'm my own worst critic. 
> 
> But yeah, here it is: the final chapter of Welcome to The Tour! 
> 
> (There's gonna be an epilogue, I just don't know when.) 
> 
> Also, be warned. Half of this is smut.

_It’s been less than two weeks since your little accident, and two days since the final competition, and you feel like you’re on top of the world._

_When you were seconds away from completely wrecking yourself twelve days back, which, in retrospect, feels like a fucking lifetime ago, only two thoughts ran through your head._

  
_The first was_ oh shit. Well, this is how it ends, I guess. 

_And the second?_

I hope I still get a chance to tell Laura I love her. 

_After your body got entirely too well acquainted with the pavement of that dingy deli parking lot, things got a little fuzzy. You remember being startled, and that feeling of dread when you realized that you wouldn’t be able to land the trick… then it was just white-hot pain and the sound of your wrist snapping reverberating through your skull._

_There’s a gap in your memory between the moment of impact and waking up in the hospital. The one brief moment that you actually remember was of your bruised body being cuddled into Laura’s lap._

_You wanted to tell her then, explain how you’re so in love with her that you can’t breathe sometimes. You didn’t though._

_And then when you were in the hospital, practically begging her to fuck you, that just didn’t feel like the right time to tell her either._

_But she knows now. And the best thing?_

_She loves you too._

—————————

You’re walking out of the hospital with Laura, her hand clasped tightly in your right while your left swings uselessly at your side, bound in a thick black cast from your knuckles to the spot right below your elbow. 

 

The taxi ride back to the hotel is silent, but not uncomfortable. You know exactly how physically draining fear and panic can be, and now that the adrenalin that came with the worry has subsided, the two of you are just fucking exhausted. 

 

When you finally get into your hotel room you and Laura have to physically push Kirsch and the ginger squad out and into the hallway. They’d all gathered to see how you were feeling, and while some pathetic sappy part of you was actually kind of touched, the rest of you hurt and wanted to go the fuck to sleep. 

 

You passed out as soon as your head hit the pillows. 

—— 

Four days after getting home from the hospital you’re feeling a lot better. Your road rash is scabbing over and the majority of your bruising feels less tender. The bruises themselves have turned a disgusting shade of greenish-yellow that’s rather reminiscent of Kirsch's vomit after that time he ate an entire box of frozen corn dogs while they were still frozen, but still, you’re feeling better. Plus, you can skate again, which is a relief. You aren’t feeling 100% confident on your board yet, so you’re taking it easy for now. You’ve still got like five days until the contest, so by then you’re hoping to be back to normal. 

 

Laura, for her part, has been the absolute perfect live-in nurse. You know that you come off as  a hardass bitch sometimes, but the truth of the matter is that when you’re hurt, you turn into a pain in the fucking ass. You’d feel embarrassed about that, but right now you’re too busy enjoying being taken care of to feel any kind of shame. The cupcake is truly a saint for putting up with your whiney ass. 

 

Although, her job isn’t half bad if you really think about it. 

 

When you’re hurt you lay around. 

When you lay around you get bored. 

When you get bored you get horny.

When you’re horny you want to get off. 

 

Ergo, you’ve been having a lot of sex. 

 

While this is a spectacular development as far as you’re concerned, it’s getting harder and harder to keep yourself from blurting out ‘I love you.’ Especially when she’s crawling back down your body, smiling and sated and sweaty after sitting on your face and grinding so hard against you that you think she could have easily just broken your nose. 

 

And you might just be hallucinating, but you’re pretty sure there’ve been a handful of times where Laura was on the verge of saying what you’ve been so afraid of saying. 

 

She sometimes gets this look where her eyes crinkle and her brow furrows, and it’d look like she was angry if it weren’t for the soft smile playing across her face, and in those moments she opens her mouth as if to say something, but always moves to kiss you instead.  

 

You’re not complaining though, because those kisses feel a lot like an ‘I love you’ anyway. 

———————————— 

It’s the last heat of Laura’s competition and it’s clear that she already has the first place title in the bag. You don’t think you’ve ever been more proud in your entire life. 

 

You’re not sure if it’s the fact that she’s riding in the finals and the crowd is almost 100% composed of people cheering for her in particular or what, but she’s on fucking fire. 

 

Lafontaine and Perry are sitting beside you in the little section for family and friends in front of the main seating area, and the two of them are cheering so hard that you could replace them with two orange, vaguely humanoid vuvuzelas and you don’t think anyone would notice. But you don’t mind, really, because you know their support is important to Laura and you’re fucking whipped. 

 

The finals competition scheduling fucked you all over a little bit though, unfortunately. Right now Danny should be finishing up hers, and although you don’t miss her presence here and you think that she probably feels the same way about your respective absence at her contest, you’re bummed that you’re missing Kirsch’s. His contest follows directly after Danny’s ends, so he’s out in the vert center warming up instead of sitting beside you. You’d apologized to him when you found out that Laura’s competition coincided with men’s vert, because there was zero fucking chance that you wouldn’t be there for her, but he was completely understanding.

 

When you’d informed him about your impending absence at his comp he’d just given you a grin and ruffled your hair before saying “no worries Carmsexy, I know you’ve gotta be there for your girl! When you’re done telling Laura that you love her, tell her that I said congrats on the gold.” 

Then he winked at you in a far too similar way to how you usually do after dropping a creepily accurate prediction or truth bomb, as you’re known to do, which freaked you out a little bit. But then he ran off in the direction of the little hotel restaurant shouting “pizza or death,” and any illusions about the birth of a newly wise and mysterious Kirsch were pretty much shattered. 

 

As you’re watching Laura’s final trick, a massive, and to be honest, completely terrifying looking, double backflip tuck no-hander over the biggest flybox you’ve ever seen, Kirsch’s earlier words start coming back to you. 

 

You need to tell her you love her. 

 

She’s just touched back down on the ramp and everyone around you is going wild because yeah, your girlfriend just kicked the living shit out of the Dew Tour and made the competition her bitch. 

 

She’s rolling slowly towards where you, Lafontaine, and Perry have been watching the competition from, and she’s acting completely different from how she was when she got the gold in Seattle. 

There’s no little strut, no (rightfully) overconfident victory dance, no beaming smile. 

 

Instead she just looks tired. Like, at a fucking cellular level. But still, she’s got this warmth in her eyes and the slightest little smile playing across her lips, and when she’s finally so close to you but still too far away for your liking, you decided ‘fuck it’ and hop easily over the metal divider that’d been keeping you off of the course. 

 

She looks up and your eyes meet. The warmth from before intensifies and you’re worried for a moment when she rests her head against her handlebars, letting out a huge sigh and freeing her hair from the messy bun it’d been contained in while she was riding. Then she stands up and lets her bike fall to the side. You’re walking towards her without noticing, and when the two of you collide and she buries her face against your neck and clings on to you for dear life, you pay no attention to the cameras and microphones being shoved in your direction. 

 

Laura lifts her head from your shoulder after a moment of just breathing you in, and then you’re pulling her in for a slow kiss that she melts right into. 

 

When you part it’s with a contented sigh against her lips. 

 

“Congratulations sweetheart, you’ve no idea how fucking proud of you I am…” 

 

She’s smiling up at you with watery eyes that you know are coming from the combination of happiness, exhaustion, and relief she’s currently experiencing. You see a woman with a Dew Tour logo covered microphone begin to approach you and Laura, and it’s clear that the customary post-comp interview is about to start. Laura turns her head to follow your gaze and sees microphone-lady beckoning her over. 

 

Nodding her head towards the woman in understanding, Laura turns back towards you and squeezes your hand before moving to walk over to the interviewer, but you don’t let go of her hand. She turns around and looks at you in slight confusion, and you know it’s now or never.

 

“Laura?”

 

“Yeah Carm?”

 

“I love you.” 

 

As soon as the words come out of your mouth you’re being shoved aside lightly by a man with an enormous camera. Apparently Laura was taking too long to go over towards the interview area, so they came to her instead. 

 

Fucking perfect. 

 

You’re panicking internally as you watch the microphone get shoved in Laura’s direction, the interviewer spouting off some predictable question about how it feels to get first place. 

 

As soon as the interviewer stops speaking, Laura starts. 

 

“It feels amazing, I’m still kind of in shock to be honest, but yeah, this is just… incredible.” 

 

Although she’s meant to be talking about the contest, Laura’s eyes haven’t left yours. A small smile starts to form on her face and you feel yourself mimicking the action automatically. 

 

She’s prompted again, this time being asked about how she managed to pull off such a win as a first time competitor.

 

“I mean, practice, obviously,” she laughs to herself before continuing, “and I’ve had the best support group anyone could ever ask for… most of all though, seeing my girlfriend owning the competition week after week has pushed me to want to ride better, so uh, thanks Carm,” 

 

You’re smiling like an idiot now and you continue to watch curiously as the interviewer pulls the microphone back up to her own face and interjects at the end of Laura’s sentence. 

 

“By ‘Carm’ I’m assuming you’re talking about Carmilla Karnstein, the street skater currently sitting at the top of the leaderboards?” 

 

“Kinda broody and wears leather like a boss? Yup, that’s the one,” 

 

Laura and the interviewer share a laugh as you scoff and the cameraman beside you snickers. 

Ugh. 

“Well I know her competition starts in just a few hours, is there anything you want to say to her?”

 

“I mean, well, even though I’m definitely going to be with her in the time between now and when she has to skate, I guess I might as well say it now too,” she turns to face you fully, which more or less means that she’s not facing the camera at all, not that either of you care, before she continues, “good luck babe, I know you’re gonna kill it… and I love you.”

 

You’ll deny it to your grave, but hearing her say those three little words made your heart soar and your brain melt. 

And yeah, it’s so fucking cheesy that it may actually constitute as something that would fit into Laura’s diet, but it’s true. 

—————

When you feel your feet catch the board underneath you perfectly, you know that you’ve just finished the run that’ll put you in first place. Moments earlier you’d been eyeing a potential gap spot, and here you were, pulling a huge 360 flip over it; as your wheels hit the concrete of the course’s ground level, the horn that ends your run blows. 

 

Stomping on the tail of your board and skidding to a sharp stop, you turn back to look at the wall between the second and ground levels of the course that you’d gapped over. You mentally pat yourself on the back, no other skater even thought to try that gap. With a smirk, you turn around and spot Laura and Kirsch jumping up and down and cheering. You mouth a simple ‘I love you’ to her, and playfully flip Kirsch off when he starts pouting at you for leaving him out.

 

You hear your name being announced as the winner of this year’s final competition and you have to hunch over with your hands on your knees for a moment to let everything catch up to you. 

You did it. 

—————————

That night, the gang was faced with a tough decision. 

Celebrate because every single one of you medalled, or go the fuck to sleep because you’ve all pretty much drained your energy supplies. 

 

Unsurprisingly, it was Raggedy Annie’s long lost twin that came up with a compromise. Drinks at the closest bar until 10pm, then back to the hotel to sleep. The real partying could wait until tomorrow night.

 

So that’s what you did. “Drinks at the closest bar” may or may not have turned into a shot for shot competition between Kirsch and Danny, which you may or may not have been the drunken instigator of, but by midnight you were all back in your respective rooms. 

 

Right before you and Laura fell asleep, and after a halfassed attempt on your part at getting handsy, the two of you had a short conversation that left you grinning and eagerly awaiting the morning. 

 

_“Hey Carm?”_

_“Yeah, love?”_

_“Do we have to do anything tomorrow morning?”_

_“Not that I’m aware of, no.”_

_“Maybe we could finally test out that thing in your sock drawer?”_

  
_“I think I’d like that very much, creampuff.”_  

——

Soft kisses trailing down your throat pulled you from sleep the following morning. When you finally open your eyes with a content hum, you’re met with the sight of a topless Laura Hollis straddling your bare stomach and peering down at you.

 

You give a small stretch and crack your neck before speaking.

 

“Mornin’, cupcake,” a glance at the alarm clock shows you that it’s only half past eight, “what’s got you up so early?” 

 

“Well,” she starts, grinding her hips against your abdomen lightly, “I was having this really,  _really_ nice dream…” 

 

You bite your lip as she pauses to run her hands up your stomach and over your chest teasingly. You know that you’re a sucker for a good dramatic pause, but right about now you’d give your one good arm to never be on the receiving end of one again.

 

Nodding quickly, you silently urge her to continue. When she starts playing with your nipples instead of continuing her story, part of you wants to let it slide and get on with it already, but the rest of you is screaming that she  _has_ to finish it, that it’ll be more than worth it. 

 

Laura’s eyes are glassy and unfocused as she rotates her hips and rubs against you harder. You can feel the damp cotton of her underwear against your skin and that, along with the feeling of her thumbs circling lightly around your nipples, is driving you mad. 

 

“And what was happening in this dream?” You finally prompt. 

 

“Huh?” 

 

“Your dream? What happened?”

 

“What dream?”

 

“Oh for fuck’s—seriously? Laura, can you  _please_ elaborate on the, and I quote, ‘really really nice dream’ you woke me up over?”

 

She grinds herself against you once more and whimpers before shuffling her hips down until they’re resting directly on top of yours. Her eyes focus on your face and she gives you a lazy smile.

 

“Hmm, oh yeah, that.” 

 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah cupcake,  _that.”_  


“So it started with you on top of me—”

 

“Like how you are now?” You interrupt, smirking as you roll your hips up into hers. 

 

“Mmmmnope, like you were a few days ago, kneeling above my face with your hands buried in my hair…” 

 

Your mind wanders back to that moment and you groan, wishing you were feeling even a fraction of the relief you felt then.      

 

“And then you were underneath me,” she continues, but you cut her off again.

 

“What? That doesn’t make sense—”

 

She shushes you and you raise your eyebrows at her. 

 

“It was a dream Carm, it didn’t need to have a chronologically accurate storyline.” 

 

You open your mouth to interject, because what is she even talking about, but she shuts you up with an unimpressed look. 

 

“Fine. Continue.”

 

“Thank you,” she grins, “so then you were underneath me, and I was thrusting into you, like this,” she grinds her center hard against you a couple of times, and your eyes roll back in your head at the friction she’s causing. “Only, both of my hands were planted above your shoulders, so I couldn’t have been fingering you, you know? So then I looked down to where my hips were slamming against you, and realized that I had a dick. Not a real one, obviously, but like I was wearing the strap on.” 

 

Although your initial reaction to Laura saying that she dreamed she had a penis was surprise and mild confusion, your mind quickly rearranges those thoughts and then you’re inhaling sharply at the idea of her fucking you with your strap on. 

Fuck, you’d obviously thought about using it with Laura before, but it was always the other way around— you’d be the one wearing it, she’d be the one receiving. To say that this new version of your old idea was turning you on would be an understatement. 

 

“God Carm, I could see how wet you were for me—” she gasps quietly as you pick up a slow grinding rhythm beneath her, “a-and fuck, you were split open around it Carm, and so fucking needy… I-I could feel it tugging inside me every time you got tighter—” 

 

You sit up and buck Laura off of you in a quick motion, causing her to fall on her back with a surprised squeak. In a flash, you’ve shucked off your (ruined) underwear and scrambled onto your knees above her, using your good hand to pull hers down her legs as well. 

Once you’re both naked, you reverse your positions. You straddle her stomach for a moment before dragging your core down until you’re resting against the apex of her thighs, leaving a shiny wet trail across her goosebumped skin in your wake.   

 

“How about we make that dream a reality then, cupcake?” 

 

Your voice is as shaky as your hands are when you bend to the side and reach into the top drawer of the dresser beside you. Quickly grabbing the silky purple bag that holds your harness, lube, and dildo, you try to act as casual as one can when retrieving a bag full of sex toys.  

 

Before you lose your nerve, you’re bending back into your original position atop Laura’s thighs and emptying the contents of the bag out beside you. 

 

With much steadier hands than you, she reaches out and picks up the dildo, tossing it from hand to hand comically. 

 

“Ahh, you’ve got one of these ones, eh?” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

 

She smiles at your bristly tone and pecks you on the lips. 

 

“It’s not supposed to mean anything, Carm, I was just observing. I’ve never seen the strapless kind in person.” 

 

“Oh,” you run your hand through your hair, “yeah, I read that this was the best kind…” 

 

“You read? You’ve never used one?” 

 

“W-what?! Of course I have,” you scoff, praying that this conversation ends as soon as possible. 

 

Laura just raises an eyebrow at you, clearly asking for elaboration. You sigh.

 

“God, I’m not like, some—some inexperienced virgin! I’ve used strap ons before,” you cough to try and cover your next word, “once.” 

 

“Babe, I’m not judging you. Plus, I’ve never used one, so you’ve still got more experience than me!” 

 

You don’t know why you’re making this such a big deal. You’ve never been fucked by a strap on, so what? It’ll be fine. 

 

“God dammit, look, I’m sorry babe. I’m just… nervous, I guess?” 

 

While you’ve been giving yourself an internal scolding, Laura has managed to slip the dildo into the harness and pull the thing halfway up her thighs. Gently, she pushes you off of her so she can get onto her knees. 

 

“It’s alright to be nervous, Carm,” she says with her attention split between you and the bulbous part of the dildo meant to go inside of her. You silently pass her the small bottle of lube, which she applies generously before slowly pushing the short end inside of herself. 

 

Your eyes are fixated on her hands. You watch as she breathes out shakily and finishes adjusting the toy inside her. She pulls the straps of the harness up around her hips and secures them.

 

“I’m nervous too, you know?” 

 

You nod in understanding before getting onto your knees as well. With your fingers gripping her waist tightly, you pull Laura into a deep kiss. As you move to get closer to her, your stomach bumps against the head of the toy. 

Laura whimpers.

You grin. 

 

This is gonna be fun.    

 

She kisses your grin away, trailing one hand down your body and teasing your clit. Your hips jerk towards her, unconsciously chasing after her fingers. 

 

Laura keeps kissing you, somehow having enough coordination to start shuffling you backwards towards the top of the bed while also cupping your mound and rubbing at your slick folds, not once breaking the kiss.

 

The two of you maneuver until you’re laying back with your head on the pillows and Laura hovering over you, knees on either side of your hips. 

And yeah, this hasn’t been the most graceful endeavor so far, and if you were a spectator you’d probably be cringing at how awkward your shuffling around has been, but fuck that. Because regardless, you’ve still got one Laura Hollis on top of you, red-cheeked and flushed, waiting to fuck you with your own god damn strap on, and the whole situation has made you so wet and so tight that when she pushes two fingers inside of you they slip out almost immediately. 

 

You cry out against her lips as she enters you again with three fingers, pumping and twisting them shallowly in preparation for what’s about to come. No pun intended. 

 

After a few more thrusts, you decide that you can’t wait any fucking longer, so you wiggle up slightly and begin to move your legs, guiding Laura until she’s nestled between your spread thighs, staring down at how the tip of the dildo brushes against your swollen folds each time she moves forward slightly.   

 

“D-do you need the lube?” You ask, tripping over your words as Laura gives a curious thrust, pressing the head of the toy against your entrance.

 

“You’re pretty fucking wet already, babe, but yeah, I don’t think it could hurt.” 

 

You’re relieved at her answer, because even though you’re supposed to be some badass skater, there’s a teeny tiny part of you that’s afraid this is gonna hurt. The most you’ve ever had inside of you is three fingers, so seven inches of silicone cock is  _just a little_ intimidating.

You know you’re wet, you can feel the coolness from it drying where it had spread to your inner thighs, and you also know that this isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Still though, you’re pretty sure that this is the wettest you’ve ever been, and the fact that being laid out open and vulnerable is partially responsible for this is kind of embarrassing. 

 

You’re pulled from your inner musings by the snapping sound of Laura closing the lube cap, and you shiver when some of it drips from Laura’s hand onto your pussy as she rubs up and down the length of the shaft, because shit that’s cold and you weren’t expecting it at all.

 

Rubbing the excess lube onto her thighs, Laura scoots forward and helps you lift your hips slightly. 

 

“Tell me if you need me to stop at any time, alright?” 

 

You just nod and watch as she uses one hand to direct the shaft and guide it to your opening. 

She slowly presses forward with her hips, and you have to bite your lip and throw your head back against the pillows as you feel her sliding inside of you.

 

The pressure is unbelievable, and you’re not quite sure if you like it yet. You look down and see that she’s only a little less than halfway inside of you, so you curl a leg behind one of hers and squeeze, forcing her hips to thrust further. 

 

Laura makes a small gasping noise as her hips press flush against yours. She pulls back an inch before thrusting forward again, and you’ve officially decided that holy fuck yes you like this a lot. 

 

“Is this okay?” 

 

“Yesyesyes Laura  _please_ start fucking moving,” you whine in response, groaning in the back of your throat as she continues with short hard thrusts. 

 

She grins down at you, and you just  _know_  that she’s gonna tease you in the future about how quickly you started begging. 

 

After a few minutes of quiet moans between the two of you, Laura begins to pick up the pace. 

She’s breathing hard into the crook of your neck, her weight supported by her forearms resting at either side of your head. 

 

“God, faster, please!” 

 

You feel her nod against your shoulder and then you’re crying out embarrassingly loud as Laura shifts onto her knees, holding your hips in the air as she straightens her back and begins to absolutely fucking plow into you. 

 

Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, trying and failing to muffle the little ‘hng’ noise you’re making every time Laura’s hips slap against yours. 

 

When you open your eyes to look at her, the sight you’re met with almost makes you come on the spot. 

 

Her head is thrown back, neck and chest flushed red, and she’s chanting a quiet ‘ohfuck.ohfuck.ohfuck.’ as her hips piston back and forth. Her arms, straightened and straining with the effort of holding your lower body up, frame her torso and force her breasts together. 

 

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you’re biting your knuckle so hard that you taste blood. This delicious pressure is building inside of you, and it feels familiar but completely foreign at the same time. 

 

Just as you feel like you’re going to explode, Laura pulls out of you entirely. 

You don’t have time to protest or ask what the fuck she could possibly be doing, because in a flash she’s the one with her head against the pillows and you’re left straddling her stomach. 

 

“I want to see you ride me.”

 

“Oh my fucking god.” 

 

You don’t hesitate as you slide your hips back to take her full length inside of your cunt again. From this position, you can feel the ridges of the toy’s head pressing against your g-spot, and the sensation causes you to fall backwards momentarily. You catch yourself, thankfully, with your good hand gripping Laura’s thigh behind you and your injured hand grasping the sheets next to the opposite thigh. Your own thighs are burning from the unfamiliar movements, but right now you couldn’t stop if you tried.

 

Laura’s moans are getting more and more audible, and you can tell just from that that this angle is working for her, too. 

She bends her knees, forcing you to lean forward instead, and grips your ass as she thrusts frantically inside of you. 

 

“Carm—Fuck! I’m gonna—” 

 

She freezes with her hips in the air, still buried inside of you, and cries out against your neck. 

 

Then you’re sinking back down onto the shaft and grinding your hips roughly against hers, hitting the right spot with every thrust. 

 

It’s your turn to chant ‘oh fuck’ now, and you grind your clit against the base of the harness as hard as you can as you feel your release coming. 

 

You fall forward, your arms landing on either side of Laura’s head, and as you’re clenching around her and biting into the crease between her neck and shoulder a  _little_ too hard, you hear her cry out again at her second, albeit much less intense, orgasm. 

 

You see fucking stars, and as your climax washes over you, you realize that you’ve never been this happy in your life. 

 

“Laura, I fucking love you.”

 

You can feel her smile against your neck.

 

“Is that just the orgasm talking, Karnstein?” she chuckles, still out of breath, before kissing you deeply. “I love you too, though. Just in case you didn’t already know that.” 

 

You’re laying heavily on top of her, the toy still inside you, when the hotel phone starts ringing. 

 

To be honest, you didn’t even know that those old things still worked. 

 

You also didn’t know that Laura would pick the fucking thing up while she was still inside of you. 

 

“Hello?” 

 

You can hear the fuzzy tone of an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. 

 

“Yes, this is the room of Carmilla Karnstein and Laura Hollis… can we help you?” 

“Uh, yeah, we’re both here… I guess I can, give me one second…” 

 

Laura covers the mouthpiece of the phone before whispering up at you.

 

“It’s some guy that says he’s the team manager for Vans or something, he wants to talk to us on speaker.”

 

Just as you’re about to tell her to hang the fuck up because it’s probably a hoax and also, you know,  _you’re still kind of fucking impaled on her_ , she presses the button for speakerphone. 

 

“Hi, this is Richard Johnson, team manager and public relations representative for Vans ‘off the wall’ Skate Company?” 

 

Laura rolls her eyes and you raise your eyebrows because seriously? Dick Johnson? Poor guy. 

 

He must take your silence as a sign to continue. 

 

“I’m calling you this morning in hopes of setting up a meeting for later today to talk contracts. We’ve been following you two throughout the tour, and we’d like to offer both our congratulations on your wins as well as two pro sponsorships.” 

 

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head and Laura’s jaw drops. 

 

“Are you serious?” You ask him, slapping a hand over your mouth as soon as the words come out because Laura decided to roll you off of her and scurry closer to the phone, and the sudden empty feeling was both unexpected and totally unwelcome. 

 

“Very serious, Miss Karnstein. Does four o’clock work for you two?” 

 

Laura answers this time, “Yes! Yes totally, four o’clock it is! We’ll see you then!” 

 

She hangs up and slams the phone down onto the receiver before he can reply or even give you the details about where you’re supposed to be meeting.     

 

Laura jumps off of the bed and pulls you up after her, grabbing you in a bone crushing hug and shaking the two of you back and forth. 

 

The humor of the situation, i.e. you’re both celebrating pro sponsorships with a strap on harness being the only item of clothing between the two of you, is not lost on you. 

 

“Holy shit cupcake. Holy fucking shit.” 

 

“I fucking know, Carm. Oh my god.” 

 

You’re both holding each other by the biceps, and suddenly Laura looks down. She sees the dildo and starts laughing before pushing you back on the bed and climbing on top of you. 

 

“We’ve got like, six hours before the meeting.” 

 

You look at the clock and nod back at her. 

 

“Round two?” 

 

“You just read my mind, cutie.” 

 

God.

You fucking love this girl.      


	13. Epilogue pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! If you're reading this, I want to say thanks for sticking around and reading my story. Your feedback inspired me to do a small series of epilogues, and here's the first installment! I don't know how quickly I'll be able to churn out the other few pieces, but rest assured, they'll be posted eventually!
> 
> (this is like a solid 85% smut, sorry not sorry)

 

You’re seeing how many things you can multitask at once when you accidentally run your board into the small section of wall separating the kitchen from the living room. The impact shakes you hard enough to make you drop your phone.

 

Shit. 

Well that officially brings an end to your current streak of four things at once. (Skateboarding, playing solitaire on your phone, humming along to the new Porches album, and thinking about the logistics for the upcoming release of your pro deck, which you have yet to finish designing.) 

 

Bending down to retrieve your dropped phone, you’re startled to find Laura right in front of you when you snap back into an upright position. 

 

You place a quick kiss on her nose and she rolls her eyes at you.

 

“Carm…”

 

“Can I help you, cupcake?”

 

“What did we literally  _just_ talk about?”

 

You gaze contemplatively into the distance and bring a finger to your pursed lips. 

 

“How much you love me and how happy you are that we finally settled the lease on this place?”

 

Laura huffs and looks down to hide her smile, “Well, yes, but you seem to be conveniently forgetting something.”

 

“Oh yeah,” you begin, holding back a smirk at her expectant expression, "that you think I’m stunningly beautiful and every time you see me you get wet, which, really creampuff, it’s not like I didn’t already know that—”

 

She cuts you off with a hand clamped over your mouth. You’re grinning at how red her face is getting. 

 

“Carmilla! Jesus, you’ve got a big head,” you shrug and make a vague hand gesture to signify that you don’t disagree before Laura continues, “we talked about how inside the apartment is a no skate zone.” 

 

You shuffle back and forth on your board before popping a quick kickflip and grinning smugly at her. Then you pivot on the tail of the board, aiming to turn around and continue your mindless loops around the kitchen, and promptly slam the deck back into that poorly placed dividing wall. 

 

Laura makes this angry little choking noise under her breath and you immediately step off your board and pop it up to rest against your hip.

 

“Seriously babe, I’d really like to get our deposit back at the end of the year, and I doubt that’ll happen if the bottom half of every wall in the house is dented and scuffed.” 

 

You look into her eyes and see that she’s clearly worried about the potential damage you’re likely to cause. She grabs your board and places it gingerly behind her, leaning it against the sliding glass door that leads to the humble back deck. Sighing, you pull her into a hug.

 

“I’m sorry Laur, I promise I’ll stop skating inside…” you trail off, nervous about verbalizing your next thought, “and uh, maybe, if you want, we don’t have to get the deposit back at the end of the year? Maybe we could hang around this place a little longer? Or uh, a lot longer?”

 

She stretches up slightly to kiss you, her bare feet giving your sneaker-wearing self a bit of a height advantage. 

 

“Carmilla Karnstein, are you suggesting that we buy a house together?” 

 

You flush at the mix of incredulousness and excitement in her voice, keeping your eyes trained on your feet and scratching at the back of your head anxiously. 

 

“You don’t have to say yes, I know this place is small and needs some work, and we’ve only been together for a little over a year, but, uh, you know…” 

 

Laura slowly nods her head and gestures for you to continue. 

 

“God babe, you’re not making this easy for me, are you?” 

 

“Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ and smiles, “it’s nice not to be the rambling one for a change.” 

 

You roll your eyes and kiss her swiftly before finishing your thought. “I love you, and I want to be around you pretty much all the time, and, I want to make a home with you.”

 

You grimace like the words left a bad taste in your mouth, because really, this is getting too sentimental for your liking. 

 

“Plus,” you add in an attempt to save face, “if we buy this place then we can say we have property all over Canada, and apparently Vancouver is a hip place to be nowadays. And I can build a halfpipe in the yard without having to get the landlord’s permission!” 

 

“You realize that my dad owning a house in Toronto and us having a place in Vancouver doesn’t count as ‘all over Canada,’ right?” 

 

You shrug, but you can feel the excitement bubbling in your chest because holy shit, she hasn’t said no yet, and she seems to be seriously considering your hairbrained idea. 

The two of you are silent for a moment, just observing one another.

 

“So,” you ask, “thoughts?"

 

“Let’s do it.” 

 

You let out an uncharacteristically enthusiastic ‘yes!’ and Laura laughs at you. 

 

Then she frowns, “you know we’ll have to convince the landlord to sell to us, right?”

 

Your expression matches hers in an instant. 

 

“Hmm, oh yeah. We’ll figure it out cupcake, you know I can be very persuasive when I need to be.” 

 

Laura narrows her eyes at you, “No giving death threats to our landlord Carm, I don’t care how polite you can make them sound.” 

 

You pout, “Aww, you’re no fun, Hollis.” 

 

“I’ll be even less fun when you’re in jail. Plus, we’re about to have quite a bit of money coming in from my last video and you releasing your pro deck; I doubt death threats will even be necessary.” 

 

You smile at her and pull her tight against your chest. “So we’re doing this?” 

 

“We’re doing this.”

 

She grins up at you and initiates a deep kiss, lingering against your lips when you break apart for air. 

 

“Ugh, shit,” you groan, and Laura looks at you quizzically, “I still haven’t finished my deck design and the marketing team wants it by tomorrow.” 

 

She steps away and separates your bodies completely, “Better get to it then, babe,” she gives you a firm pat on the ass before leaving the room with a laugh. 

 

“I hate it when you’re right,” you say to the empty room. With another sigh, you square your shoulders and walk off towards the little office area of the house, intent on finishing this fucking design already. 

——————————————

 

Two and a half fruitless hours of drawing graphic after graphic on photoshop later, you’re nowhere closer to being done.   

 

Right now you’ve pretty much given up on producing anything decent, and you’re tempted to just draw the same little black cats from the deck William gave you when you were a kid. Apparently though, that’s considered ‘copyright infringement' and ‘illegal.’ 

 

“Any luck babe?” Laura strolls into the room to find you spinning lazily on the dilapidated office chair you’d liberated from from the last tenant’s forgotten pile of belongings. 

 

“Nope, stuck on the same old shit from earlier.” 

 

You sigh defeatedly as Laura comes up behind you and rubs her hands soothingly along your shoulders. 

 

“Hmm, what about doing something cool and punky, you know? Like, oh, I know!” She claps her hands together once to emphasize the apparent brilliance of her newest idea. “What if you wrote your name like how metal bands do it? The whole ‘pile of dead sticks’ look? I think it’d look neat.”

 

You have to choke back a laugh at that, because sometimes you forget just how much of a dork Laura Hollis truly is, but then she says shit like that and you remember that her nerdiness is unrivaled.

 

Giving a small push against the floor, you spin the chair around until you’re facing her. 

 

“Cupcake, there’s no fucking way that I’m about to put out a design that looks like the logo for a bad Metallica cover band, especially not with my name attached to it.”  

 

She pouts at you and jumps into your lap, and for a second there you think that your combined weight might just cause the chair to buckle. You both hold your breath as it rocks slightly to the side, but breathe out a sigh of relief as it settles and you remain safely off of the floor. 

 

“You don’t have to be such a grump about it, Carm,” she says as she burrows into your shoulder.

 

“Sorry babe, I’m just… frustrated. And you and I both know that I’m the more artistic one between the two of us; it’s a good thing putting together your signature bike only required picking out colors.”

 

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent color-picker-outer, Karnstein.”

 

“Mhm, tell that to the yellow monstrosity you call a bike, sundance. My eyes feel like they’re being assaulted every time I look at it.”

 

“Excuse you!” She bites her lip in an effort to maintain her little bunched up expression of righteous indignation, “more like your eyes are being assaulted gently, by uh… flowers! And suns, and bumble bees, and other sweet, lovely, yellow… things?”

 

“So you agree, looking at your bike is like getting a face-full of bees.”

 

Laura wriggles around angrily on your lap, letting out annoyed scoffs and jaw slack in feigned disbelief. You try not to smile, or groan, because fuck she just rocked down against you in the exact right way and you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. 

 

“That—that is not what I’m— ugh, screw it. Whatever Karnstein, you’re just being a brat because  _you_  need to take a break.” She punctuates the ‘you’ with a quick peck to your lips. 

 

You make a noise in the back of your throat as if to say ‘tell me about it,’ and she immediately continues. 

 

“You’ve been at this for hours, babe,” she moves in until her lips are brushing against yours with every word she speaks, “and I really think you could benefit from…  _releasing your frustrations_ , you know?” 

 

You snort quietly. How she manages to make such a cliche phrase both hilarious and appealing is beyond you. 

 

Taking your silence as agreement, she kisses you and begins to roll her hips into your lap. You groan into her mouth and let her continue those beautiful movements against you, but you push her away after a minute or two.

 

“No can do, sweetheart, I’ve gotta get this thing done.” 

 

Laura pouts again but slowly gets off of your lap. Her eyes are shining in the way that you’ve learned indicates that she’s up to no good.

 

“Whatever you say,  _sweetheart._ ” 

 

She trots out of the room and you try to get back to work. 

A minute later she walks back in though. This time her hair is pulled up in a messy bun atop her head and her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants have been replaced with a dark green tank top and, well, nothing. 

 

“Where’d your pants go, babe?” 

 

She smirks at you, “well I saw that you weren’t wearing any, so I decided to follow suit.” 

 

You raise an eyebrow at that, and yeah, she’s right, the fact that you’re constantly too warm means that you’re pantless and only wearing boxers more often than you’d like to admit, but Laura’s usually freezing and bundled up in an array of pop-culture themed sweat-things. 

 

“We both know about my aversion to pants, Laur,” you let the sentence fade out, partly because you don’t know what to say next, and partly because she's walking toward you and pulling your chair back. 

She pushes you away from the desk and smoothly maneuvers underneath it before pulling you by the knees until you’re back where you started. 

 

“Uh, cupcake, what’re you—”

 

Oh. 

She yanks your boxers down with one swift tug, and then she’s spreading your knees and wow, this is unexpected but not unwelcome in the slightest.

Oh.

 

You move to scooch back so you can actually see Laura’s face when you ask her what she’s doing, but strong arms wrap around your thighs instead and suddenly you’re immobile. 

 

If you bend down and to the side and crane your neck a little bit you can just about see her eyes peering mischievously at you from beneath the desk. 

 

“Laura?” 

 

“Get back to work, Carm. You were the one who was adamant about not having time for a break, after all.” 

 

You’re not totally sure what she’s playing at, so you decide to take her words at face value and do as you’re told. You try to act normal but you think your breathing is probably giving away just how turned on you’re getting.

Your hand that’s holding the stylus is just touching down on the drawing tablet when she makes her first move.   

 

Her tongue brushes up the length of your slit, hard enough to make you gasp but still so light that the touch feels only like a ghost of what’s to come. 

 

You feel Laura move her hands and rest them on your mound, then she’s using both thumbs to spread you wide for her. She’s kissing lines up and down your leg, going from behind your knee to the crease at the inside of your thigh, while her thumbs stroke along your inner lips. 

   

Your breath comes out as a shudder when she pushes into your entrance slightly, and you’re startled by the clattering noise your stylus makes as it slips from your hand and lands loudly against the desktop.

 

Laura freezes beneath the desk, and out of instinct you freeze too.

 

“Keep going babe, you’ve got a deadline to meet, remember?” 

 

You nod, even though she obviously can’t see the motion, and retrieve the stylus with shaky hands. With a deep breath, you get back to work; dragging the last layer you’d been drawing on into the trash and creating a new one. 

 

The feel of Laura’s breath on your sensitive skin returns as you complete a surprisingly smooth looking curve. When she sucks your clit into her mouth your arm jerks and that smooth curve is promptly destroyed. 

 

Laura pulls her hands back from where they’d been toying with your lips and moves them to your hips, gripping them tight as she yanks you forward and spreads your knees even further apart. 

You’re breathing hard now, slumped halfway down the back of the chair with one hand gripping the stumpy excuse of an armrest and the other threatening to snap your stylus in two. Her thumb begins to rub hard circles around your clit while her tongue slides down and dips shallowly inside of you. This continues for five or so minutes, and it’s driving you mad.

 

“F-f-fuck—” you cut yourself off with a groan when her tongue delves deeper and begins to lick.

 

Laura moans against your cunt and the vibrations have you releasing your whiteknuckled grip on the armrest in favor of burying your fingers in her hair and pulling her closer. 

 

“Oh god— fuck yes, L-L-Laura please!” 

 

She pulls back and you whimper, making her laugh under her breath before she returns to you, this time lapping sloppily at your clit and humming in the back of her throat. 

Your drawing hand continues to make small marks as your entire body unconsciously rocks to the rhythm Laura set with her tongue. You know this graphic is probably a fucking mess, but that’s the last thing on your mind right now, not when you feel two fingers teasingly pushing inside of you. 

 

The stylus clatters onto the table once again but this time Laura doesn’t stop, her tongue still circling and flicking your swollen nub. Her fingers, however, remain frozen where they are,  _just_  dipping into your cunt and nowhere near providing enough penetration to get you off. 

 

“Laura come on please, fuck me,” you whine pathetically, only to be met with her laughing breathlessly against you and absolutely zero movement from her fingers. 

 

You’re feeling spectacularly needy, and after a few more seconds of Laura’s barely-there touch you take matters into your own hands and thrust forward. 

The move nearly sends the chair flying out from under you, but you couldn’t fucking care because you could finally feel the delicious stretch of Laura’s fingers filling you. 

 

“Jesus fuck, more, please babe—oh shit”

 

Rocking your hips back and forth only accomplishes the smallest of thrusts, but Laura must be taking mercy on you because she suddenly starts moving, drilling into you so hard that your eyes roll back in your head. 

 

Both of your hands fly up into your own hair before one moves to cover your mouth and the other slams down against your laptop. She pulls your clit into her mouth and begins to lash at it rhythmically with her tongue, and sinks a third finger inside of you as you start to flutter and tense around her. 

 

Your hand is doing a poor job of muffling the increasingly ragged groans spilling from your mouth, and the hand on your laptop is undoubtably causing some kind of damage as it repeatedly fists and uncurls against the keyboard. 

 

As your muscles clench tight around Laura’s fingers, curling and tapping and pounding away in your cunt, your hips buck forward and your hands shoot out on the desk and grip onto whatever’s closest. 

 

You let out an embarrassingly wanton cry as your orgasm hits you, Laura matching the movements of your jerking hips and keeping her lips latched onto you as she helps you down. 

You haven’t even stopped shaking when she pushes your chair back and climbs out from beneath the desk. Your eyes are just opening again as she hurriedly yanks off her underwear and straddles your thighs, instantly painting them with her arousal. 

 

She’s grinding hard against you when your brain finally catches up to what’s going on and you slip two fingers between her pussy and your thigh. She sinks down on them immediately and drops her forehead to your shoulder with a moan. She’s wet, like, so  _so_ fucking wet. 

 

“Mmfuck Carm, harder, I need to com—ah!” 

 

With a strength you didn’t know you had you pull Laura forward by the hips while simultaneously pushing on her shoulder until she’s resting with her elbows on the desk as her hips roll like the ocean against your thrusts. 

 

You can’t take your eyes away from where your fingers are disappearing inside of her, and even though you can hear a repeated pinging noise coming from your computer as Laura’s elbow presses down on too many keys at once, you keep going. She’s getting tighter and tighter, and it’s almost too hard to continue moving, so you curl your fingers instead.

 

“Ohmygodohmygod—FUCK-hng!” 

 

All too soon she’s clamping down on your fingers and rutting against your lap. Her mouth opens as she reaches her peak but no sound comes out. The silence right then is deafening, but quickly broken by a high pitched, breathless sigh as her hips slow, then still completely. 

 

You’re breathing hard against one another, and after a moment you pull your fingers out of her and suck them into your mouth. She groans and you smile around them. 

 

“Jesus creampuff, that was fast. You could put a teenage boy to shame.” 

 

She laughs into your sweaty neck and gives you a light swat on the shoulder.

 

“I was fucking myself under the desk for the last half of it babe, I was about ready to explode by the time you finally got inside of me.” She’s smirking against your neck and fuck, how do you always forget how dirty this little nerd can be? 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yup.” 

 

She groans again and clambers off of your lap, pulling her underwear back on and picking yours up off the floor as well. 

 

You’re raising your hips to slide the fabric up over your ass when you hear her start to laugh. As you go to ask what she’s finding so amusing you see it for yourself. 

 

Your laptop, now missing the letter ‘M’ and one of the command keys, proudly displays what your blind gesticulations had created on photoshop. 

It’s a mess, truly, but you actually kind of like it. 

Just black and white, one long line swirls and spikes around the canvas in seemingly random patterns, leaving some areas completely untouched and others almost totally filled with darkness.

 

“This might actually be the best graphic you’ve come up with so far, Karnstein.” 

 

You laugh and place a slow kiss on the skin of her hip left exposed from where her tank top rode up.  

 

“Clearly I just hadn’t found my muse,” you say ostentatiously and smirk, “but viola, she’s come! Or rather, she made me come, and  _then_  she came.” 

 

Laura blushes and moves to stand behind you, her chin resting on top of your head as she snickers into your hair. 

 

You’re silent as you quickly save and convert the file, easily composing an email to the company and attaching your design before sending it off and shutting your computer down.

 

“Thanks for the inspiration, babe.” 

 

She leans over and kisses your temple.

 

“Anytime."   


	14. Epilogue pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the three-part epilogue! Hollstein visits Laferry, shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit folks, I can only apologize for letting so much time pass in between epilogue updates; I’ve been way busier than expected this summer and wound up being away from home every other week. On the bright side, I’m now officially a published illustrator?!?!  
> Anyways, I figured that the imminent return of Carmilla with season 3 should probably get my lazy ass in gear. (Also I reread all of the comments that y’all had left which is kind of why I’m sitting here at 4am finishing this chapter when I’ve got to get up for work in two hours)  
> This epilogue chapter is written from Laura’s POV and takes place a couple of months after the last one. It’s pretty much pure fluff and filth and flirty nonsense, although there is like a hot second of pseudo-angst near the end. It’s all good though, no worries. 
> 
> For real though, there’s a solid 4,000+ words of pure smut in this, so you should probably avoid reading whilst in the direct vicinity of parents, coworkers, children, priests, etc. 
> 
> Enjoy, hopefully!

Carmilla might be laughing at my hour long wikihow binge on proper packing techniques now, but when my suitcase is perfectly packed and hers isn’t even able to shut, I’ll be the one laughing. 

Probably. 

Actually, I doubt I’ll even have the chance to enjoy my small victory, because she’ll most likely use her secret ‘I’m pathetic, save me’ pout and then I’ll be stuck packing her bags as well.

 

Ah, the things we do for the ones we love… 

 

I’m brought out of my semi-romantic musings as a balled up pair of socks ricochets off of my face and into my suitcase, which is lying open in front of me on the bed. 

 

“You still with me, cupcake?” 

 

Squinting angrily at a smirking Carmilla, who’s across the room mindlessly tossing things into her own suitcase that currently resembles a bomb site, I continue my meticulous folding. 

With more flourish than what’s probably necessary, I finish rolling up my last pair of boy shorts and tuck them neatly into their predesignated area. 

 

I raise an eyebrow and keep eye contact with Carmilla as I zip my suitcase shut easily, then I give her a satisfied grin. 

 

“Boom! Laura Hollis, packed and ready to go!” I throw in an explosive hand gesture for good measure and take a second to bathe in the admittedly smug satisfaction I’m currently experiencing. 

 

With a slow clap aimed in my direction, Carmilla saunters over to me and pulls me flush against her with a finger hooked in my belt loop. 

 

“Congratulations, cutie,” she murmurs against my neck, “now that you’re all ‘packed and ready to go,’ I believe you’re free to demonstrate your newfound packing expertise on my pile o’ shit.” 

 

Fucking typical. 

 

She boops me on the nose with the tip of her finger before giving me a chaste kiss and tugging me across the room. 

Looking down to survey what I’m working with, I find that the situation is worse than I’d initially expected. 

 

“Carm, why, pray tell, do you find it necessary to pack four tubes of toothpaste, one singular slipper, and what appears to be every black shirt that you own?” 

 

Sifting through the contents spilling out of her bag, I continue. 

 

“A bikini, Carm? Seriously? And… is this the very much  _not_ waterproof vibrator that we broke last week?” 

 

Looking up from the pile, I’m met with her annoyingly attractive smirk and a dismissive shrug.

Useless lesbian.  

 

“We’re going to see Laf and Perry for a week, babe. In Quebec. And it’s January… Ergo, it’s seriously cold out.” She shrugs again. "We’re not going away for some sexy retreat in the Bahamas, you can leave the bikini and defunct vibe at home.”

 

With another I’m-up-to-no-good grin, Carmilla begins to back out of the room slowly. 

 

“See cupcake? You’re obviously more qualified for this job, and I’m  _clearly_  hopeless on my own. So…” she ducks out of the doorway, narrowly avoiding the broken vibrator aimed at her head, “I’ll just leave you to it!” 

————————————————————

 

Some interesting background information about Lola Perry that I learned via Lafontaine is that the Perry family has owned a dirt racetrack for nearly three decades.  

 

The track, which takes up a little over five acres of farmland in southern Quebec, started as a personal course for Mr. Robert Perry, who, according to (Lola) Perry, has had an affinity for bike racing and mountain biking since he was a young boy. While Perry’s mother had no interest in either discipline, she  _did_ enjoy sewing and embroidery, which apparently came in handy as the track became more popular with the locals and Mr. Perry’s friends, who started a racing club. Mrs. Perry decided that it was crucial for them to have matching jerseys, and voila, the Perry’s Track and Bike Shop was born. 

 

A few years ago Perry’s parents retired and moved up to Montreal, and she was more than willing to take ownerships of the family business. 

 

Apparently, during the time that Laf and Perry have been dating, or, according to Carmilla,  ‘bumped uglies and become Laferry,’ the two have become business partners of sorts. 

 

While Perry continued in her father’s footsteps and now runs the dirt course, Lafontaine has more or less taken over the indoor space left by Perry’s mother. Laf has already warned me over the phone that they’re midway through their construction plans with turning the indoor space into a bmx camp, and that they’ve got a solid forty or so interested riders who’ve been helping to crowdsource the whole camp idea. So far the project has gotten a ton of positive feedback, and Laf is hoping to get it up and running by the summer.

 

The soon-to-be indoor park is one of the reasons we’re flying across the country in the first place, and I’m excited to see their progress and maybe swing around a hammer or two, if Carmilla lets me. 

 

————

 

We got into Quebec trouble-free, if you don’t count accidentally scandalizing two elderly women on the plane that overheard my stern explanation to Carmilla on why we couldn’t get handsy in the back of the economy section.

 

After grabbing our bags from the luggage carousel and watching an unfazed Carmilla get scolded by security for skateboarding inside, we called an uber and enjoyed a thankfully uneventful half hour ride to Laferry’s place. 

 

Carmilla was decidedly less grumpy when Perry led us to the guesthouse and she realized that we wouldn’t be staying on a living room couch; the discovery of our accommodations’ unnecessarily large bed put her in such a good mood that she actually helped Lafontaine carry the bags in. 

 

After Lafontaine had excused themselves back to the park building site, Perry had scurried off as well, saying that she’d let us ‘settle in’ for a bit.

In comparison to the lusty expression on Carmilla’s face, Perry’s innocent one seems to suggest that her and Carm have vastly different understandings of what activities fall under the category of ‘settling in.'

 

I’m yanked forward and playfully shoved onto the bed before the front door is even completely closed. In an instant, Carmilla is planted firmly in my lap, her hips rolling down into mine as her lips suck roughly at my neck.

 

“Whoa there, Carm! What’s gotten you so riled up? Not that I’m complaining, clearly…”

 

She rolls us over so she’s laid out beneath me, snugly between my legs, before answering.

 

“I was really bored in the uber, and usually when I get  _that_ bored I just go to sleep, or rub one out and  _then_ go to sleep,” I smirk at her to cover the flush that I can feel spreading up my neck as I think about Carmilla touching herself. I raise my eyebrows and grind down teasingly against her a few times, urging her to continue her explanation. 

 

“And…?”

“Right. So obviously neither of those were options, seeing as I took a four hour nap on that metal death bucket of a plane after you so rudely denied my smooth advances—” 

 

“Smooth advances?! You stuck your hand up my shirt and told me that you’d rather ‘finger through  _me_  than the safety booklet'—” she cuts my joke-rant off with a surprisingly gentle kiss.

 

“As I was saying, I couldn’t do either of my preferred activities, because of the aforementioned sex-snuffing and the unfortunate fact that I’m not  _that_  much of an exhibitionist. So, I just started thinking about you fucking me instead. And as we both know, I’ve got a very creative imagination,” she smirks at me and wiggles her eyebrows before continuing, “so how about it, creampuff?”

 

I laugh and reposition myself to have one thigh pressing down between hers and quickly unbutton her pants.

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” 

 

With that, I slip my hand down her jeans, between the rough denim and the wet cotton of her briefs. I cup her firmly and press my fingers up between her folds, smirking into her neck at the way she gasps and just how wet she already is. 

 

Then, because my luck is terrible, the front door swings open and Perry is greeted with the view of Carmilla underneath me with my hand in her pants a la the bedroom door that we didn’t bother to close. 

 

I freeze and Perry just huffs out an exasperated sigh. Carmilla keeps rolling her hips up against my fingers because she’s shameless.

 

“Really, you two? I’ve been gone for ten minutes!”

 

“Then get lost for another ten, Raggedy Anne—” I silence Carm with a glare and speak loud enough for Perry to hear.

 

“Sorry about that, Perr, we didn’t know you were coming back so soon…?” 

 

Perry raises an unimpressed eyebrow and pointedly glances down at where my hand is still pinned unmoving in Carmilla’s pants before making hard eye contact with me again.

 

“Right!” I squeak, abruptly yanking my hand free and sitting up on my knees, raising both hands in the air beside my head to show my surrender. 

Carmilla whines loudly and throws her forearm over her eyes for a minute before sitting up as well.  

 

Based on the sudden arrival of Carmilla’s notorious ‘vacate the premises immediately if you don’t fancy becoming an unidentifiable heap of limbs’ stare, I can officially say that Carm’s previous good mood is destroyed. I’m pretty sure I can hear her growl as Perry insists that she give us the ‘grand tour’ now that we’ve 'put our shenanigans on pause.' After having to literally yank her away from the bed and out the front door of the guesthouse, Carmilla proceeds to trail broodily behind me as Laf and Perry enthusiastically explain the ins and outs of the place.

 

I tune back in to the conversation just in time to learn a little history about where we’ll be staying, “…and after my mother hired Henri, our groundskeeper James’s partner, to help her manage the influx of customers, she decided that the house had become overcrowded and insisted that James and my father build a worker house, which is now the guesthouse.” 

 

“Thank fuck for that,” Carmilla mutters a little too loudly, earning an elbow to the kidney from me and a suspicious glare from Lafontaine. 

 

“So,” Perry exclaims, “here we are!”

 

She gestures behind her proudly before moving over to stand by Laf, smiling warmly and pecking them on the cheek. 

 

Looking to where Perry had just gestured, I’m met with the view of a huge, perfectly maintained dirt track. There’s a thick border of white and red chalk lining the track and first few feet after the starting gates, and little red flags sticking out of the dirt in front of each new obstacle or section of the course. 

 

At the sound of a distant beeping noise, Perry rushes away to go get whatever she was cooking out of the oven, so I walk closer to the track.

Upon further inspection, I realize that each flag says something along the lines of ‘Warning! Sharp curve ahead!,’ or ‘Caution! Entering jump section!’

 

Leave it to Lola Perry to take the “extreme” out of “extreme sports.”

 

“BMX dirt seems kinda lame. Just saying.”

 

“Carm!” 

 

She goes to shrug when a worryingly red Lafontaine slaps a heavy hand on her shoulder.

 

“If it’s so lame, then I’m sure it must be easy too, right?”

 

I’m holding my breath and silently praying that this is one of those rare situations where Carmilla will use that brain to mouth filter that she  _does_ indeed posses, not one of those situations where I have to drag her away from threats of bodily harm by the collar of her shirt because she felt like being a dick and antagonizing someone.

 

The corner of her mouth twitches up into a smirk quickly, so fast that if you weren’t looking for it you’d have missed it, and it’s right then that I know this will most definitely  _not_ be a brain/mouth filtering scenario. 

 

Carmilla schools her face into complete boredom before replying.

 

“Makes sense. I’m sure anyone could do it.” 

 

Oh no. 

 

Laf gets a murderous look in their eyes, and honestly I’m a little frightened for the future state of my girlfriend’s wellbeing.

 

They stomp off with an air of ‘bitch I’m gonna make you eat your words’ and… yup, just as I thought. 

Laf comes back, this time trailing one of Perry’s bikes along beside them. 

 

“So Karnstein, if racing is so easy then I’m sure you’d have no problem giving the track a quick lap?” 

 

The challenge in Lafontaine’s eyes is clear as day, and as Carmilla shrugs and moves to grab the bike, they suddenly pull it back.

 

“Not so fast, champ,” Carm scrunches her face up at that, “I’ve only ever seen you on a bike once before, and hate to break it to you, but it left  _everything_  to be desired.”

 

Carmilla scoffs, “Excuse you, I was drunk.”

 

Laf rolls their eyes. “Not the point, I’m just saying, you can totally back out if you want. I won’t judge you. Actually I totally will. But still, if you’re just gonna wipeout and ruin the border line that I chalked this morning then please don’t even bother.” 

 

“Holy shit I won’t ruin your fucking pretty dirt line.”

 

“Then it’s all yours.” 

Laf passes Carmilla the bike with a little more force than necessary, and with that, She’s sauntering off to the row of starting gates.

 

As soon as Carmilla's out of earshot Lafontaine turns to me with a massive grin, all traces of anger vanished. 

The 180 degree demeanor change is more than a little unnerving, so I take a hesitant step back with my eyebrows raised and my eyes squinted, trying to figure out what Laf’s game is. 

 

“Chillax, Hollis. I wasn’t actually angry. But you  _might_ want to take that brick of a phone out and record this.”

 

“Uh, why?”

 

“You’ll see L, you’ll see…”

 

Lafontaine leaves me with a wink and heads over to the little booth that houses the mechanism used to raise and lower the starting gates. 

Strange as their request is, they’re clearly up to something, so I might as well get it on film. 

 

I pull out my phone as I’m walking over to Lafontaine, and once it’s all set to record I peek into Laf’s booth. 

 

“Uh… Laf? What the hell is that medieval looking lever for?”

 

“The gates, obviously. They lower to the ground like a drawbridge when I pull it down—”

 

“Okay but why not just have a button?”

 

“Because buttons are for squares, frosh. Plus, I personally rigged this baby up last week, so now…” they push a small button (hypocrite!) on the wall beside the lever that says ‘manual,’ “I can do this!” 

 

They swing their arm out towards the track in a gesture that was frankly a bit too grand for the sight that I’m met with. 

Carmilla sitting on the bike a few feet away from the starting gate, twiddling her thumbs. 

 

“Wow Laf… anticlimactic much?” 

 

“Alright so my timing isn’t the best, just wait.” 

I nod with a shrug and point my phone at Carmilla, finally pressing the record button.

 

“Hey Karnstein!” Laf shouts out from the booth’s window, “you ready to show us just how easy bmx racing is?” 

 

Carmilla leisurely sweeps her gaze over to us and raises her eyebrows. 

 

“I would say I was born ready, but that would imply that this requires any great amount of skill.” She retorts with a smirk. 

 

Lafontaine turns to me, “Laura, you know you’re girlfriend is kind of a dick, right?”

 

“Yeah, but she makes up for it in other ways. She might be a dick, but she’s  _my_ dick—” 

 

“Gross Hollis, TMI.”

 

“I didn’t mean—”  

 

“Okay showoff, then get ready!” Lafontaine cuts off my protest with another shout to Carmilla.

 

“Just roll into the starting hill, don’t worry about pedaling. When I count to three, you can start. Ready?” 

 

Carmilla rolls her eyes, “I’m on the edge of my fucking seat.” 

 

“Not for long. Three!” 

 

Carm looks confused for a second, but then the gate is lowering down and she stands up on the pedals to start rolling forward.

 

It’s right about then that the last few minutes in the booth start to make sense, because in a flash Lafontaine is yanking the lever back up. The gate swings back into place just as Carmilla’s front tire is about to roll over it, effectively jamming it in place. 

The small amount of momentum Carm had gained was apparently  _just_  enough to toss her languidly over the handlebars.

 

The fall itself was longwinded and glorious, Carmilla shouting an unnervingly monotone ‘seriously, what the fuck?’ right before she hit the dirt belly-first and proceeded to slide slowly down the hill. 

 

At this point everything goes silent. 

Until Lafontaine’s raucous cackle breaks it and I start laughing so hard that tears form.    

 

Carmilla, who’s now rolled over in the classic ‘paint me like one of your french women’ pose, begins a slow clap.

 

  
_"Real_  funny, ginger,” she drawls before getting to her knees and standing up slowly. 

 

I rush over to her and give her a peck on the cheek for her troubles, trying not to laugh as I wipe some loose dirt from chest. 

 

Lafontaine joins us a minute later, taking slow steps that would be more fitting if they were approaching some kind of wild animal. 

 

Then again, looking at the glare that Carm’s sporting, I can’t really blame them. 

But a second of tense silence later, she cracks a tiny grin and offers Laf her hand. 

 

Lafontaine matches Carmilla’s smile and shakes her hand heartily. 

 

“Nice one, Frankenstein, I’ll admit that that was a clever little stunt.”

 

Laf bows dramatically.  

 

“I know. Oh, and my ‘pretty little dirt line’ looks good on you.”

 

I look down at where they’re pointing and see that, yup, Carmilla’s once black attire was now a lovely pinkish mix of red and white chalk stripes. 

 

She tries in vain to brush it off, then huffs and fixes Laf and I with another glare. 

 

“Hardy fucking har,” she deadpans, “we never speak of this again, capisce?   

 

“Oh hell no, Laura filmed it,” Laf says proudly, “send that clip to me, by the way.” 

 

And with that, they’re jogging off towards the main house, throwing a wave over their shoulder.

 

Carmilla turns to me and squints, so I give her my tried and true trademark Laura Hollis Could Never Do Something To Piss You Off look. 

 

She sighs, “We’ll be revisiting the topic of the future of that little video later, at a time when I’m not covered in fucking dirt and in dire need of a shower.

 

So the look wasn’t a complete success, but I’ll take it anyway!

 

—————

———————

 

We get into the guesthouse and Carmilla immediately heads for the bathroom while I follow along without really thinking about it. 

 

With her back to me, she moves to pull her shirt over her head but pauses and drops the fabric back down as she notices my presence.

 

She gives a pointed glance between me and the shower curtain. 

“I would invite you to join, cutie, but I know how much you enjoyyour  _private_  showers.”

 

I wasn’t even looking for an invite, thank you very much. Not that I’d turn one down if offered.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”  

 

“Pfft, don’t play innocent creampuff, I heard you get yourself off in the shower two mornings ago, and also the Monday before that, and last last Wednes—” 

 

I clap a hand over Carmilla’s mouth before she can continue listing off all the times she’s overheard me doing… you know, that. 

As inattentive as she might act sometimes, that girl has the memory of an elephant (and a head the size of one too) and I don’t really need to hear a play by play of my own masturbatory history. 

 

She licks my palm and I instantly pull my hand back. Then she’s tugging me flush against her, effectively transferring that pinkish chalk dust to my previously clean clothes—dick— before she leans close to whisper into my ear. 

 

“Don’t be embarrassed cupcake, I think it’s hot,” she pulls away slightly but leans forward again to initiate a kiss that wreaks havoc on what’s left of my self control. 

 

“I’ve got an idea,” she says casually, or as casually as one can when they’re grabbing your ass and grinding against your thigh with absolutely no subtly, “how about we get this whole bathing thing over with, and then you can give me a private reenactment of your usual bathtime activities.” 

 

I don’t say a word as I raise my eyebrows and reach out to turn on the shower. 

Game on.

———

————

 

After a shockingly chaste shower— Carmilla’s reasoning being that she was already too worked up and wanted this to last a while— we were settled atop that wonderfully large guest bed, me sitting at the head and carmilla at the foot.

 

“So…” I start, suddenly unsure of what to do and abnormally self conscious about my nakedness, “what now?”

 

 “You tell me cutie,” Carmilla says with a smile, spreading and bending her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged, clearly at ease within her own body. 

When she sees that I’m pretty much floundering for the next step she takes mercy on me.

 

“How about you do what you usually do… when you do the do,” I laugh at her silly phrasing but she just continues her sentence after giving me a coy grin and waggling her eyebrows, “and I’ll… do the same…?” 

 

Carmilla’s tone at the end of her suggestion is strangely hesitant, and when I actually drag my eyes up from where they’d been firmly glued (admittedly at the junction of her thighs,) I see that she’s sporting an insecure half-smile. 

 

To ease her apparent bout of nerves, I make the first move. 

With a deep breath, I uncurl my body and spread my legs before shuffling higher up the bed so that I’m sat comfortably. 

 

Carmilla sees my move and matches it, getting herself comfortable by reclining back slightly, bending her knees further to the sides, and pushing out her crossed ankles till she’s taking up half the length of the bed.  

 

“Okay, so let’s just…” I pause and scramble for what to say next, coming up with nothing.

“Oh screw it… you can start whenever you’re comfortable, Carm. Okay?”

 

She nods and watches with rapt attention as I pull two fingertips into my mouth to wet them before shakily lowering them to circle my clit. 

With a quiet hum in the back of my throat, I shut my eyes and let my head tip back against the headboard before spreading my legs wider. I can vaguely hear Carmilla’s breathing get heavier to match mine when I dip down slightly to drag the abundant wetness up to where I’m currently rubbing. 

 

With my eyes closed and my ears so focused on the sounds of my own breathing I’m almost able to imagine that I’m alone in the bathroom, getting myself off before going out to ride or spending the day editing videos. 

The only thing is that I’m on my back, and usually when I fuck myself I’m either standing up and leaning forward against a shower wall, laying on my stomach and thrusting against my hand, or, if I’m feeling particularly lazy, grinding against something solid and uh… mountable? 

 

There’s no edge of a bathtub in here for me to grind against though, and I’m not about to stand up and slump into the wall or roll over and compromise my view of Carmilla right now. So even though what I’m currently doing feels good, it’s not working as fast as Carm or one of my usual methods would.

 

I open my eyes to check on Carmilla’s progress and see her reclined at the end of the bed, one leg straight in front of her and the other with its heel tucked beneath her ass, leaning her weight on one elbow as the same arm’s hand pulls at her breast and her other arm holds her phone steady on her torso. 

 

“Are you watching porn right now?” I squeak out, slightly offended that I’m not enough to inspire arousal. 

 

“If— mmfuck, sorry,” I gape as she switches the phone between hands and pushes a finger inside herself, “god— what were you…? Oh right, no cutie, not unless you count scrolling through my folder of saved Laura Hollis snapchat nudes as watching porn.” 

 

I see her use her thumb to scroll down her phone screen, and as she does I can clearly see her begin to fuck herself harder. 

 

I’d be lying if I wasn’t a little bit smug right now. I mean seriously, being the object of Carmilla Karnstein’s desire is a pretty great feeling; knowing that my snapchat game is A+ is just an added bonus. 

 

“Wait. Do you actually have a folder of all of that?” I abruptly stop the rough up-down-up-up-down motion I’ve got going against my clit and wait for her answer. 

 

She hardly moves her eyes away from the screen as she half laughs half groans, “Of course I do, sweetheart. It’s called ‘Cupcake XXX,’ see?” she flips the phone around and sure enough I see exactly what she’d just described. 

 

She pushes another finger in and I can literally  _hear_  how wet she is. I’m still a little confused though.

 

“Babe?”

 

“Mmmwhat?” 

 

“Why aren’t you just looking at the real life me? I’m like, right here, doing the same thing that I’m doing in half of those pictures.” 

 

Carmilla gives me a downright filthy grin.

 

“Well Laura,” she starts, but has to take a shaky breath before continuing, “I wouldn’t want to ask you to recreate  _this_ right now”she turns her phone towards me and now that I can see what she was referencing my face heats up instantly. Mainly because... uh yeah, naked yoga isn’t something that I’d try again anytime soon, at least not if Carmilla was around and I wanted to  _actually_ do yoga. 

 

“I-I appreciate your thoughtfulness?” I stutter out awkwardly, still staring at the phone screen, but then it’s being pulled away as Carmilla moves. 

She drops the phone on the bed and pulls her hand away from herself, gripping at the comforter instead. She’s taking deep breaths and squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

 

“Carm—what’swrongareyouokay?!” I rush out as I scramble over to where she’s curling into herself.

 

“I’m f-fine— got too close” 

 

I make a noise of comprehension and watch as she winces and squeezes her thighs together. She seems to calm slightly, but when she readjusts her position so her heel is pressing against her center, her eyes shoot wide open.

 

“Laura oh fuck oh fuck I can’t stop it—fuck—” Carmilla cuts herself off with a choked gasp and hurriedly pushes two fingers back inside of herself. She puts her free hand on top of the busy one and presses hard, humping up against the pressure. 

 

I watch in awe as her body stiffens for a moment before she slumps gracelessly onto her side. 

 

After a moment her eyes open and she looks up at me with a pout. It’s kind of adorable, but then I remember how naked she is and suddenly it’s more sexy than adorable, and I let my fingers return to their slippery up-down motion.

 

“Everything alright down there, Karnstein?” I breathe the question out with a small laugh.

 

“Ugh, yeah, it was just a wasted orgasm.” Her frown deepens as she sits back up, legs returning to their earlier bent position.

 

“...Care to elaborate…?” 

 

“It’s like, okay well obviously it was  _good,_ as orgasms tend to be, but the buildup was  _so_ good and then I didn’t time it right and it was just…” she makes a few vague hand gestures and sighs, “there are alright orgasms, and there are  _fucking_   _great_  orgasms, you know?” 

 

I shrug and nod, because yeah, not all orgasms are created equal or whatever. 

 

“Usually I can fix it so it’s like jumping off a cliff, this time was like… being lowered slowly down a bunny slope.” 

 

I laugh at her analogy and relax back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as I dip inside myself a few times. 

 

“Just think about that quote, the one by like, Drake, or Dr. Seuss or something…” 

 

Suddenly Carmilla’s face comes into view, and I realize that she’s moved silently from the opposite side of the bed and has now decided to hover over me. 

 

She plops herself down next to me unceremoniously and presses a lazy kiss against my neck before responding.

 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, cupcake. Dr. Seuss has said a lot of shit, quite a bit of it being literal nonsense... Same goes for Drake, I guess.” 

 

I laugh, “it’s the one about the journey being more important than the destination? I dunno, it seemed fitting for your  _woeful_  situation.” 

 

“Are you trying to apply an Arthur Ashe reference to me getting myself off, Laura?” 

 

“…yes?”

 

I feel her shrug against me before snuggling further into my side. 

 

“Well, I admire your honesty, at least…” she muses, rolling over and propping herself up on her side so that she’s leaning over me. Walking two fingers across my belly and over my reddened chest, she continues. “Speaking of destinations, why haven’t you gotten to yours? You’re like a teenage boy half the time, and it’s  _definitely_  been over five minutes since we started this.” 

 

I scoff at her, because  _rude._  


Then I’m tasked with trying to come up with a simple and  _not_  embarrassing way to explain why I’m having trouble coming. 

 

“Uh, I just don’t usually… do it like this? You know, like on my back?” 

 

Carmilla grins and gets onto her knees beside me, and suddenly I’m being rolled over until I land on my stomach with a soft ‘oof.’ 

 

She helps guide my hand back to where it was lazily working between my legs, then sits back on her haunches to admire her handiwork. 

 

“Better?” 

 

I push two fingers inside, shifting around until my palm is grinding against my clit and my fingers are curling up and gripping at the spot that always makes me weak. 

 

I turn my head so that I’m facing Carmilla, face no longer smushed into the overstuffed pillows, and nod. 

 

Spreading my legs and bending my knees, I start to rock against the fingers I’ve got rubbing inside me, trying and failing to keep my mouth shut and my noises to myself. 

 

Carmilla watches me silently for a few minutes, and I almost forget that she’s there until I move my free arm up to grip at one of the posts of the headboard and she whimpers. 

 

“God, cutie, you’re so fucking hot, you know that?” 

 

Her voice is low enough to make me shiver, and I start to grind harder against the mattress, using the pillow to muffle my groans each time my palm snags my clit in just the right way. 

 

“Laura,” Carmilla brings me back into focus. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, or how long she spent just now, watching me rock myself closer and closer to coming. 

 

I don’t make any real acknowledgement that I’ve heard her other than turning my face towards the sound of her voice. 

 

“Are you going to come?” 

 

She rasps this against the skin of my jaw and and I moan out an affirmative because yes, my orgasm suddenly feels like it’s approaching at lightning speed. 

 

She grins and nips my earlobe. 

 

“Perfect. I want to try something.” 

 

I nod again, not really paying attention to her words as much as the tone of her voice. 

 

“Laura, roll over and stop touching yourself.” 

 

“f-f-fuck no—can’t stop…” 

And I don’t, because why the fuck would I? 

I’ve never been in the business of holding out on myself, why start now? 

 

“Well then, if you don’t want to roll over we could always just…” 

 

I can’t really comprehend what’s going on when I feel my arm being dragged out from under me and pulled forward until my hand is grasping something solid. 

 

Opening my eyes, I see that Carmilla has moved my arm so that both of my hands are now grasping the headboard. The position forces me to shuffle forward to reduce the strain on my shoulders, and I can feel Carm’s hands guiding my thighs further up until I’m kneeling shakily above the pillows.

 

I’ve got to be all kinds of desperate right now because I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m in this position. Or better yet, why there’s nothing filling me up and making me come. 

 

Then I can feel Carmilla molding herself against me, my back to her front, her hands resting above mine. 

 

“I want to try something, Laura. Do you trust me?” 

 

I do, god, I do, so fucking much… 

 

“Y-yes— fuck, Carm please…” then, as an afterthought, “n-n-not in my ass though.” 

 

I can feel Carmilla’s laughter shaking my frame and I don’t get what’s so funny. I’ll ask her later. 

If I can remember. 

 

“Not exactly what I was going for, cutie. Or, not today, at least.” 

 

Before I have the chance to comprehend what she’s just said, I’m crying out as she smoothly slips a finger inside of me. She doesn’t move it, but the way her palm is just barely brushing against my clit has me rolling my hips up against her, trying in vain to somehow push past the arm that’s wrapped around my front and attached to the hand between my legs, desperate for friction in any way I can get it. 

 

She removes her other hand from where it was clasped to the headboard above mine and wraps it around my waist as well, pressing into her first hand, simultaneously holding me in place and providing a taste of the delicious pressure that I know is soon to come. 

 

“Laura, you still with me?” 

 

Leaning my head back against her shoulder, I whine out an affirmative. 

 

The finger inside of me begins rubbing up against my spot, but everything else remains unbearably still, regardless of how hard I try to rock up into Carmilla.

 

“Like I said, cupcake, I want to try something—” she quickly pulls out of me and swipes up between my folds before thrusting back inside with two fingers, and I cry out louder than intended. “But,” she continues, “if it’s too much, or if you want me to stop at any time, I need you to tell me that.” 

 

She sucks hard against the back of my neck, biting into the spot where neck meets shoulder. 

 

“Okay, sweetheart?” 

 

“Yes— please, just fucking— just start moving!” I whine out, and I know that I must sound wrecked because Carmilla groans into my neck and humps against the swell of my ass a few times.

 

“Can do, creampuff.” 

 

Then she completely removes her arms from around me and I think I could honestly fucking wring her stupid beautiful neck if she doesn’t touch me— 

“FUCK” 

 

She’s slipped two fingers into me again, from behind this time, and she immediately picks up a rough pace.

 

“Ohfuckohfuck— Carm, d-don’t stop baby please…” 

 

And because she’s a dick, she does just that. 

 

“No! W-w-what the fuck—”

 

“Are you close?” 

 

I nod and groan low in my throat when she thrusts hard into me a few more times before stilling once more. 

 

“Are you going to come?” 

 

I nod rapidly when she pushes another finger inside of me easily and just holds them there. 

 

“Use your words Laura…” 

 

“YesCarmI’mgonnacomepleasejustletmefuckingcome,” the words spill out past my lips in a breathless rush.

 

She shuffles backwards and yanks my hips with her, then with a hand placed firmly between my shoulder blades, she pushes me forward and down to cling onto the base of the headboard, forcing my ass into the air for her. 

 

“Don’t come.” 

 

She whispers the command in my ear, hovering over my back to do so.  

When she goes to raise herself back up to a kneeling position, I try to follow. 

 

Her hand keeps me firmly pressed into the bed though, and I can only whimper uselessly into the pillow beneath me.

 

Again, three fingers are shoved roughly inside of me and for a blissful few minutes, Carmilla pistons into me without stopping. 

 

I’m trying to focus on her breathing, on the sound of the headboard slamming into the wall, on the pain of my knuckles as they too get knocked into the wall repeatedly. Anything to keep from thinking about how badly I need to come. 

 

It’s fruitless though, because soon I can feel myself start to tighten around Carmilla’s soaked fingers and I know I can’t last much longer.  

 

“Carm I’m gonna—”

“No you’re not,” she pulls out of me completely and I sob noiselessly into the pillow, my pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing. 

 

I stay exactly like that, trembling on my knees with a whiteknuckled grip on the headboard, for an indiscernible length of time. 

 

My shoulders relax slightly when it feels like the threat of orgasm isn’t as imminent, and apparently Carmilla takes this as her cue to start again. 

 

Because she’s a dick. 

 

She slowly pushes a single finger in and crooks it up, and it feels so intense that I can’t hold in my moan. 

 

“Jesus christ, Laura… you’re so fucking warm, jesus…” she rubs insistently against that one spot and I cry out each time she presses extra hard, “can you feel how tight you are for me, cupcake?” 

 

I whimper in response and try to control my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth. 

 

Those efforts promptly go to shit when Carmilla slowly pulls out and pushes back in with three fingers. She groans and slumps lightly on top of me, her forehead resting against the middle of my sweaty back. 

 

“You amaze me, sweetheart… letting me be so close to you, trusting me enough to let me love you…” 

 

I hum in the back of my throat and she kisses up my spine in response. 

 

I have to tense and fight the urge to arch my back when she slowly starts moving inside of me again; not thrusting, just feeling, moving almost searchingly. 

She must’ve found what she was looking for, because she makes a small ‘aha!’ noise and pushes her fingers forward and up. 

 

It feels like there’s a rope connecting my clit and my bellybutton, and every time she pushes up it’s like she’s tugging on it, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps and I’m sent reeling. I’ve never felt anything like it.

 

“You’re almost ready cupcake, I’m going to fuck you hard now, but I’m not gonna let you come, alright? Just one more time though, okay? Once more then I’ll stop teasing,”   

 

I nod, because at this point I’ve got no other option but to go along with this and see her through to the end. 

 

“Okay?” 

 

“O-okay, I trust you.” I say in a small voice. 

 

Carmilla leans over my shoulder and presses a slow kiss to my temple before she straightens up and moves me back into my previous position, hands at the base of the headboard and ass in the air. 

 

Her authoritative tone is back when she next opens her mouth. 

“When you feel like you’re about to come, I need you to tell me, okay? Say ‘red' when you feel like you can’t last any more, and I’ll stop. And remember, you can actually say ‘stop' at any time if you really need me to, don’t forget that.” 

 

I nod and push my ass back against her, searching for her fingers. She chuckles and positions three at my entrance. 

 

“Easy, tiger—” I thrust myself backwards and cry out in relief when I feel her fingers slip into me.

 “…or not,” I can almost hear her shrugging to herself, “that’s how badly you want it, huh?”  

I start rocking back and forth hard, trying to get her deeper. 

“Alrighty then. Buckle up, creampuff, and try not to scream too loud. I don’t think ginger two could survive walking in on this.” 

 

Biting into the pillow seems like the safest move, and I’m glad that I did so in advance because even a mouthful of fabric and feathers doesn’t completely muffle the shout I let loose when Carmilla plows into me without warning. 

 

Within a couple of minutes I’m starting to pulse hard around her fingers. She pulls back until only her fingertips are still inside me and makes a tutting noise. 

 

“Tsk tsk, babe. You didn’t say red.” 

 

I breath raggedly for a moment before lifting my head to answer. 

 

“I can s-still hold it, please, keep going…”

 

She bends to the side to make eye contact with me, and somehow I manage to hold it. 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, I promise I’ll t-tell you when.” 

 

With that she pushes back inside me, meeting more tightness this time and having to brace herself with her free hand on the small of my back. 

Once she’s buried inside me completely, she stills.  

 

I know what’s coming next. When I’m this tight she usually stops  _really_ pushing, afraid that she’ll hurt me regardless of how wet I am. So instead she’ll move around inside me,  _rub_  against my walls rather than thrust. It always feels heavenly.  

 

This time is different though, because she pulls out and pushes back in slowly, repeating the process until she's fucking into me steadily despite the resistance. 

 

The feeling is like nothing else; it’s like each thrust is dragging across all the right spots and I could come at any second. 

I’m about to give in and let go, but I feel a different kind of pressure and it’s almost too much. Honestly, the subconscious fear of not knowing what could happen if that pressure exploded is the only thing that's keeping me from ending this game early. 

 

“RED—fuckstopstopstopbaby I’m gonna—” 

 

I jerk forward, away from Carmilla’s touch, and bite into my forearm. 

 

“You good Laur?"  

 

“C-c-close.” 

 

“Alright, thank you for telling me, sweetheart. I’m gonna let you rest for a minute, then I’m going to let you come. Okay?” 

 

I give her a lazy thumbs up and she laughs as she helps me turn over onto my back; I sigh in relief when the new position gives my knees a break. 

 

Once I’m comfortably settled, I let my arms and legs flop out to the sides and stretch. Carmilla looks down at me wolfishly and places herself between my legs so that her knees keep me from being able to close them once I’m done stretching. Bracing herself on her forearm beside my head, she leans over and walks her fingers up my belly again, but unlike before, she turns them around before she can get to my chest and instead begins rubbing insistently at my clit. 

 

It’s only when that specific jolt of pleasure shoots up my spine that I realize how neglected it’s been. Clearly, I can’t let that happen again, I reason with myself as I cover Carmilla’s hand with one of my own, pushing her against me harder. 

 

I gasp when she wiggles her fingers and she laughs into my neck. 

 

“It—fuck, it’s not f-funny Carm—”

 

I’m cut off by her lips pressing against mine, which is fine by me. 

 

“You’re right baby, it’s not. But it  _is_ incredibly sexy. Just like you.” 

 

She ends her sentence with a kiss to the tip of my nose, causing me to make the bunched up face she’s so fond of mocking. 

 

“That bunched—” 

 

“Don’t even say it.”

 

“...Spoilsport.”

 

“Says the girl who won’t let me come?” 

 

“Fair enough, cutie… By the way,” she feigns nonchalance, “you’re seeming far too coherent for my liking, care to remedy that?” 

 

“...Just fuck me.” 

 

“My pleasure. And yours.” 

 

With a wink, she’s giving me a final deep kiss on the mouth before sucking marks down my body, from my chest to my hips, and god, I’m so  _so_ fucking wet for her. 

 

Slipping a finger inside of me, Carmilla smiles. 

 

“Mm, just as tight as before, cupcake. Feel this?” She presses up against the spot that she’d found earlier, the one that makes me feel like my stomach is collapsing in the best way possible. 

 

“Y-yes” I croak out, rocking my hips down to unconsciously press her against me harder. 

     

“Do you feel how swollen you are? How desperate you are for me to make you come?” 

 

She’s perched above me now, suddenly driving three fingers into me, keeping them curved up the entire time to add to the remarkable feeling of her fucking me through the tightness that would usually restrict her. 

 

“Yesyesyes fuck! Carm please—”

 

She slides back down to the foot of the bed, not once stopping the almost frantic pace of her fingers. Sucking my clit between her lips, Carmilla manages to give me the filthiest grin know to lesbian-kind, even with her mouth full.

 

She starts fucking me at one constant angle, her fingers hooked against that spot, pulling in and out, yet somehow deeper than they’ve ever been. 

 

Suddenly I’ve got the urge to shut my legs and push her away, all at once I’m almost too sensitive and it feels like I’m going to break. 

 

Carm must sense this, because she drops a final kiss on my mound and then she’s moving up my body once more. 

Her fingers are still drilling me, but I welcome the small reprieve I’m given when she leaves my clit.  

 

“Relax baby, you’re going to be fine, just let yourself go, okay?” 

 

I nod slightly, not entirely sure what I’m nodding  _about,_ but fuck it because this feels too good to do anything but go along with it. 

 

“Hold your legs up, Laura.” Carmilla briefly slows her thrusts so she can focus on using her free hand to push my knees up. Once I’m flat on my back, hands gripping the backs of my knees so my legs are pulled towards my chest, she goes back to work. 

 

My eyes are squeezed shut and all I can do is bite my lip and take it as Carmilla pounds into me, her breathing harsh against my jaw from where her face is resting, tucked into my neck. 

 

She pauses her ministrations for a second to reposition herself, now on her knees leaning over me, and I swear the whine that left my mouth when she pulled out will probably have me blushing for months. 

 

“It’s alright, Laura, you’re taking me so good babe,” Carmilla pushes three fingers back inside of me and bends forward to kiss and nip at the flush painting my chest, “I’m gonna let you come now, alright? Let go for me, sweetheart—” 

 

“C-Carm wait! I think I’m gonna pee, s-stop moving!” 

 

I’m tensing every single muscle that I can, trying to hold back whatever this pent up pressure is, but my grip on what’s real and what isn’t is slipping, and I can’t tell if I need to keep going or stop  _rightfuckingnow._  


 

“You’re not gonna pee, Laura, I swear,” she says as she buries her fingers deep in my cunt and hooks them, pressing and pulling and tapping in a rhythm that’s going to absolutely obliterate me. 

 

“Oh— holyfuckingshitohmygod—” 

 

Silence. 

 

Everything goes white and all I can hear is my heart pounding and a soft, distant kind of splashing sound. 

 

Colors begin to come back to me and I feel exhausted and emptied but the pleasure doesn’t fade. My eyes open, not that I’d realized I’d closed them, and I see Carmilla, my sweaty and disheveled and beautiful Carmilla, grinning from ear to ear as she hovers over me and rubs my clit in harsh circles.

 

“—at’s it, baby,” her voice starts to become clear, like finding the perfect radio frequency, “you did so well, cupcake, come for me now, Laura,”

 

It hardly registers that I haven’t actually come yet, until Carm slips her fingers back into me, thrusts deep and hard to match the pattern of her hand on my clit. It feels like only a second later I’m clenching tight, muscles squeezing and pulsing around her fingers and a long groan spilling from my lips. 

 

What feels like a year later, when I finally stop trembling and Carmilla stops her movements completely, I lay limp on top of the now thoroughly unmade bed, an uncomfortable wet patch under my ass and thighs, and groan. It’s not a sex groan though, it’s one of those ‘are you fucking serious right now’ groans. 

 

“...did I…? 

 

“yup.”

 

“and did you  _know_  I was gonna—”  

 

“ _oh_  yeah.” 

 

I can see her smug little face in my periphery, and I can only throw my arm across my eyes and groan again. 

 

“Carmilla, _I thought I was going to piss on you._ A little forewarning would be appreciated next time, you gorgeous insufferable moron,” I huff out angrily.

 

“Where’s the fun in that? You should have seen your face though, god, you’re so beautiful baby.” 

 

I, unsurprisingly, groan once more, feeling a little to sleepy for words.

 

“Plus,” she says, and I feel her light touch trailing up my leg, then she’s swiping a finger up the inside of my thigh and bringing it up into her mouth, “that’s  _definitely_ not piss.” 

 

“…h-how do you know what that would even taste like—” I scowl at her, trying to reroute my embarrassment into something a little more manageable. 

 

“you’re missing the point sweetheart… anyway, was—was that okay? You’re not actually mad at me, are you?” 

 

I don’t think it’s a serious question at first, because how could she not see that it was fucking incredible for me, like really, so I just shrug lazily and turn onto my side, eyes still closed. I start to feel the exhaustion take hold of me again, until I realize that Carmilla hasn’t said anything, and that the air in the room suddenly feels tense.

 

I pry open my tired eyes and find a very naked, very insecure looking Carmilla kneeling beside me. 

I’m trying to read the situation, but now that I’m laying down the strenuous activity from earlier seems to have caught up to me and it feels like my brain has been put through a food processor. My face stays blank as my mind races, unsuccessfully trying to discern what’s caused this sudden change in atmosphere. 

 

When I don’t say anything I can see her face fall and crumple, her head ducking so I can’t see her eyes. 

 

“God Laura, shit I’m sorry, maybe I— maybe I should just…” her voice cracks, “I should uh, I guess I’ll leave for a bit? Fuck I’m so stupid, Laura I’m sorry I should’ve asked—”  

 

Okay she’s definitely choked up and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing or what the appropriate course of action should be right now, and the sudden stress isn’t making anything clearer.

 

“So I’m just gonna…” Carmilla’s head is still down and she lets out a watery laugh that sounds more like a sob as she points with her thumb at the door behind her. 

 

She hurriedly shuffles off the bed and turns her back to me, completely blind to the fact that I’m reaching out for her as best as I can but my body feels like lead and god what the fuck is happening? 

 

My eyes are wide now as I watch her body rush jerkily around the room, and I can’t comprehend how this naked form that I was lusting over just ten minutes ago suddenly feels so far away. 

 

“God where are my fucking—” Carmilla overturns her suitcase and starts to yank on the first thing she can find, “god damn it! Where’s my fucking shirt- fuckfuckFUCK—”

 

She won’t turn around and I’m worried, like really,  _really_ fucking worried because she sounds so frantic and I can hear that she’s crying and my voice won’t work and  _I just need her to turn around._  

 

Somehow I manage to sit up, my stiff shoulder muscles protesting the movement and the raw soreness between my legs screaming at me to  _please_ stop fucking shifting, but I can’t because stopping clearly isn’t an option right now. I move as quickly as I can, which frankly is too slow, and manage to grab Carmilla’s hand as it swings back towards me in her frenzied search for something to cover up with. 

 

She pulls away from my touch instantly, and it stings. Whipping her head around a second later, she's  _finally_ looking at me. 

What I see breaks my heart. It hurts in ways that I couldn’t even imagine.

 

Her eyes are wild and red-rimmed, glassy with tears. 

Her paler than usual cheeks contrast sharply with her reddened nose, something that I know only happens when she’s sniffling too much from trying not to cry. 

Her mouth is slightly agape, lower lip trembling, and god what I wouldn’t do to never have to see her look like this again. 

 

My eyes scan over the rest of her quickly, and I wish I didn’t because it only hurts more. Her chest is heaving but not in a good way, she’s breathing raggedly, panicked. 

The hand that I had tried to grasp in mine is trembling, switching rapidly between clenching into a nervous fist and extending her fingers shakily.

Her other hand is frozen, wrapped tightly around a t-shirt she has yet to put on. 

The pants she’d grabbed never made it all the way on successfully, tight denim stretched taut where it’d been pulled up and left mid thigh. 

Her toes are digging into the carpet and she’s rocking back and forth slightly; I don’t think she even knows that she’s doing it. 

 

“Carm…” I try and put as much warmth and love into the one syllable as I possibly can, and I think maybe it went through because she takes a shaky step forward. 

 

Her eyes, though even more glassy than before, gain a little bit of life, eyebrows furrowing up in anticipation.

Her cheeks have gained a nervous flush.

Her bottom lip is still trembling but it’s now trapped between her teeth, trying and failing to be still. 

Her chest is unmoving, where she’d been desperate for breath a moment ago, it now seems like she’s holding it. 

Those fucking pants fall down to her knees with the initial movement and leave her open to my gaze again, and it reminds me about what we’d been doing minutes earlier. 

Suddenly everything makes sense and I’m struggling to form comprehensible sentences because fuck, how did I not catch Carmilla’s abrupt panic and stop this entire exchange before it could even start? I can’t risk stumbling over my words and scaring her away for good. 

 

“Baby? Please, c’mere…” 

She takes another step forward so I scoot back on the bed, ignoring the literal pain in my ass and the wet patch that’s seemed to cause all of this. 

Hesitantly, I grab her hand and lead her closer. I pull her up slowly and thankfully, she doesn’t fight the movement. 

Once we’re both sitting on the bed, me propped up with my arms extended behind me, her with her knees curled protectively towards her chest, I reach up to her cheek and brush away a stray tear. 

Next, I look into her eyes and tug gently at the tangled jeans bunched up around her calves, waiting for her to nod before I remove them and drop them to the floor.

Finally, I lay back slowly and open my arms. 

 

Carmilla nearly knocks the wind out of me with how quickly she throws herself against my chest. 

 

Shakily carding my fingers through her mussed up hair, I try to organize my thoughts. 

 

“I love you so fucking much, I think I  _finally_  figured out what just happened, so just… just listen for a second, alright?” 

 

She’s still for a moment, but then she inhales deeply and nods. 

 

“Carm I’m so sorry, this is gonna sound really,  _really_ dumb but I need you to bear with me, okay?” 

 

She nods again and nuzzles her face into the flat of my chest, and I can feel her lip tremble against my skin. 

Dropping a small kiss on the top of her head, I continue. 

 

“When you asked me if I was angry, I honestly thought you were joking,” she stiffens again and I rush to finish the thought, “I thought you were joking because I figured, you know, you just made me come all over the bed,  _literally_ , and I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried. Then I started getting so tired that I figured we could just… I don’t know, take a nap and then wake up and repeat the whole process with me on top, but I guess my brain kind of shut down and suddenly a ton of time had passed and you were getting upset and I didn’t know why, but when I tried to say something or touch you it was like I was frozen a-and you just kept getting more and more upset and I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you that you’d fucked me so hard my mind had pretty much turned to soup and then all of a sudden you were standing up and crying and I didn’t know what to—”

 

A choked laughing noise vibrates against my sternum, courtesy of Carmilla, and fuck I’ve no idea what a laugh might signify as far as the state of our relationship goes. 

 

“A-are you fucking kidding me?” 

 

“Uhh…No…?”

 

“God I’m a fucking idiot, Laura I thought you were disgusted with me, th-that I hurt you—” her voice cracks and I tighten my arms around her. 

 

“No, jesus Carm, if I wasn’t okay with doing something then I would tell you that, right then and there… I don’t think I could ever be disgusted with you, babe, and you didn’t hurt me.” I pause to pull her up into a sweet kiss, "Am I sore? Well, yes... B-b-but it’s a good kind of sore, the best kind of sore!” I hurriedly try to clarify the statement because, in hindsight, it’s probably  _a little_ too soon to joke around about this.

 

We’re both silent for a moment, and I think Carmilla can probably hear how fast my heart is beating because she presses a soft kiss to the skin above it and runs a hand slowly up and down my side. 

 

“Carm?” 

 

“Hmm?” 

She adjusts her position till she’s laying flush against me, hip to hip and chest to chest, before propping herself up slightly on her elbows so she can look at me directly. 

 

“Are we okay?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking  _you_ that?” 

 

I give her a soft smile and raise my eyebrow expectantly, because right now she’s definitely deflecting. Something I’ve learned about Carmilla though, is that she’ll usually speak openly if you let her build up the nerve to do so, but if you rush her then all you’ll get is that trademark charmingly snarky avoidance.

 

“Laura, I love you so much it’s borderline scary… I’m sorry I kind of just, you know, freaked out, my emotions seem to amplify around you and I got so scared at the thought of scaring you away from me that I panicked and tried to run—”

 

“You don’t need to apologize, Carm, really, I understand.  _I’m_  sorry that I made you freak out in the first place.”

 

She leans in and kisses me slowly, and I can just  _feel_  that we’re alright. 

 

 

Once our lips separate she takes a big, steadying breath. 

“In an attempt to avoid a painfully Canadian game of ‘who’s more sorry,’ maybe we can just chalk this up as a product of emotional vulnerability, misunderstanding, and rushed conclusions?” 

 

“Works for me.” I shrug with a giant relieved grin, my stomach finally untwisting. 

 

Carmilla shuffles back down my body so she can rest her head on my chest again. 

I hear her sigh contentedly, then she snorts a little bit and I can tell that she’s trying not to laugh.  

 

“So,” she snickers, “I fucked you stupid, eh?”  

 

Squinting at the ceiling, I mull over the pseudo-question and try to find something false about it. 

Really, she’s not wrong.

 

“…I guess that’s one way to put it.”

 

“I can make Laura Hollis squirt,” she teasingly singsongs under her breath, and I can’t help rolling my eyes and laughing. 

 

“You know what else you can do?” I ask, lowering my voice to a near whisper and running my hands down her back until they’re lightly massaging the top of her ass,

 

Carmilla sucks a small mark into the skin between my breasts, “mm? What can I do for you, cutie?” She husks against my throat.

 

“You can… go politely ask Perry for a clean set of sheets.” 

 

I peck her on the nose and give her ass a quick squeeze before rolling her off of me. 

 

Carmilla gives me a pout but dutifully gets up and dresses nonetheless. 

 

Once she’s appropriately covered she leans over and steals a quick but absolutely filthy kiss. 

 

“As you wish, cupcake. But don’t bother getting dressed, I plan to make full use of these sheets before we change them.” 

 

She walks out of the bedroom and gently closes the door behind her. 

 

I close my eyes and smile, but jump a little when the door swings open again and Carmilla pops her head back into the room. 

 

“And by the way, I’m totallytelling Laferry  _exactly_ why we need the fresh sheets. Berightbackloveyoubye!” She rushes out of the house with a laugh before I can even respond.

 

Groaning, I slam my head back against the pillows. 

Such. A. Dick.   


	15. Epilogue pt.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Carmilla is a useless lesbian who can't build for shit, Laura is maybe a top but maybe not, and Kirsch is the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Sorry for the three month gap between this update and the last chapter, writing a senior thesis is hectic! This chapter is literally just fluff and smut, because things are depressing enough without me adding to it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Without further ado, here’s the ACTUAL final installment of this story. If you're reading this, thank you so much for even giving my writing the time of day, and those of you leaving kudos and commenting and bookmarking were a serious driving force in getting me to complete this story. So yeah, thank you.

“C’mon little nerd, play it again!” 

 

You smack your dumbass of a best friend in the back of the head from your position standing behind the couch. 

He jumps forward on the cushion, jostling the cupcake just enough for her to drop her phone. 

 

“Kirsch, seriously?” Laura groans, retrieving her dinosaur of a cellphone from underneath the coffee table, “we’ve watched it _literally_ thirty-six times in the last two days! Believe me, I enjoy watching Carmilla get owned by a gate as much as the next person, but _this,_ is becoming excessive.” 

 

Kirsch gives an exaggerated groan and flops back onto the couch in defeat while you give Laura a chaste kiss on the lips for putting a stop to your misery, belated as she may be. 

 

“Thanks… Squirtle,” you whisper against her lips, trying not to snicker. 

 

You know it shouldn’t still be as funny as it is, seeing as Lafontaine came up with the nickname a little over four months ago and the two of you had used it excessively immediately after its creation, but fuck, it gets you every time. 

Or maybe you just _really_ enjoy the way that, without fail, Laura reacts with either an immediate blush, death glares, affronted stuttering, little angry slaps to whatever body part of yours is closest, or any of the wildly amusing combinations of the above. 

 

Laura jerks her head away from you abruptly and glares at you with her trademark 'fuck you’ squint. You smirk into the empty space where Laura’s lips were a moment ago and wink at her smugly as you watch a blush rise up her chest and color her ears. She moves to, _shocker_ , slap at your shoulder, but you quickly dodge it because _gods_ she’s predictable sometimes. 

You love it.

 

“Dude, how come you keep calling her Squirtle?” Kirsch asks innocently.

Your smirk widens into a full blown grin as you prepare to recount the origin of the nickname, but Kirsch interrupts you. 

What else is new. 

 

“Ohohoh! I know! It’s like _squirt_ , you know—” he says proudly, and you wait for him to continue, slightly impressed that he’d gotten there so quickly. Laura’s mouth is flapping uselessly as she tries and fails to come up with a false explanation and you grin even wider. 

“Because like, she’s tiny!” he finishes. 

 

Laura gives a relieved sigh and opens her mouth to confirm his suspicion while you roll your eyes and prepare to correct him. 

 

Fortunately for Laura, unfortunately for you, the conversation is cut short by impatient pounding on the front door. 

 

Kirsch springs up off the couch and bounds to the door, providing yet another example of the accuracy in your calling him puppy. 

 

He flings open the front door and raises his hand for an unrequited fist bump with the sourfaced delivery man from Home Depot. 

 

You walk over to the front door to spare the poor guy from being on the receiving end of Kirsch’s enthusiasm, but as soon as you get to the foyer, Ralph (according to his name-tag) turns around and walks back to his truck.

 

It only takes a minute for him and another equally as unenthused goatee of a man to unload the pallets of material from the truck bed.  

He stomps back towards you, this time holding out a clipboard that’s quickly thrust at you.

 

“Wood’s here. Sign this.” is the extent of your conversation with the man, and before you can even return his pen Mr. and Mr. Home Depot are gone in a puff of diesel exhaust.      

 

After looking out at your humble front yard and seeing stack upon stack of lumber, you’re suddenly less confident in your ability to build a halfpipe than you you were yesterday. 

 

“Let’s go hotties, this thing isn’t gonna build itself!”

 

Kirsch jogs to his truck to grab the tools that he’d brought as you feel Laura come up behind you. 

 

She’s vibrating excitedly on the balls of her feet, and all of a sudden she’s got her head over your shoulder and her hands on your waist. 

 

Pecking you on the cheek, she remains close to your face to issue her challenge: ‘race you!’ before sprinting off towards Kirsch’s tools.

 

Unsurprisingly, she won. 

Because Carmilla Karnstein does not run. 

Unless it’s out of the way of an oncoming train or into a bedroom containing a naked cupcake.   

 _Those_ are situations where you could justify running.  

* * *

Turns out that your leisurely approach to the buzzing construction zone really didn’t hinder progress all that much. In fact, it was probably for the best. 

 

So far you’ve misplaced a power drill and three hammers. Also you may have _accidentally_  put your foot through a big sheet of plywood. 

You don’t bother telling the other two. 

 

After roughly five minutes of unenthusiastic uselessness, you nearly put yourself in the path of Kirsch’s (honestly fucking terrifying) saw and decide that from this point on you’re not touching anything sharp. Or heavy. Or breakable. 

\--------

Maybe your lack of finesse with a chop saw was enough to convince Laura to let you forgo helping out with the manual labor, because a few minutes after your brush with death, (or losing a few fingers, same thing,) she comes over to where you’re toeing at a heap of sawdust and pretending to be busy. 

 

“Hey Carm? I’m pretty sure that pile of sawdust can manage on its own… also Kirsch just told me that he almost cut off your hand. Which would be very bad for me. A-a-and for you, obviously, because hey who wants to suddenly only have five fingers, am I right? Plus Kirsch could get in trouble—”

 

You’re holding back a laugh as her foot-in-mouth induced rant speeds up and raises in pitch, but you know you'll need to put a stop to it soon, lest she pass out from lack of oxygen.

 

“Cupcake? I feel like you came over here for a reason _other than_ telling me how devastated you’d be without these babies,” you wiggle the fingers on your right hand suggestively for emphasis, “so would you be so kind as to share with the class?”

 

Her eyes glazed over slightly when she watched your fingers mimic a very particular and very familiar movement, and it takes her a second to respond. 

 

“Oh! Uh… yeah! One second—” she darts away to grab a pile of papers off one of the stacks of wood, returning a moment later. “I figured that seeing as— and please don’t be insulted by what I’m about to say, you’re a bit of a _safety risk_ in terms of construction, you could maybe tell us what we need to be doing? And I know that…” 

 

You sort of tune Laura out as you glance at the papers in her hand and see that they’re actually the instructions for building a six foot halfpipe that you’d printed last week. 

Suddenly the next few hours don’t seem so daunting.

 

You tune your admirably excitable girlfriend back in a moment later, “—plus you love reading things and shouting!” 

 

“Laura, I would much prefer to be the rule-reader for this haphazard mess of a project than the first to lose a digit, thank you.” 

 

You pull her in for a quick kiss, smirking at the small hitch in her breath, before giving her a genuine 'thank you for realizing my incompetence but not making me _feel_ incompetent’ smile. You hope it translated well.   

\---------

After you’ve been yelling out instructions for ten minutes, Kirsch seems to realize that you’re not coming back to help him build. 

 

“Hey Carmsexy, why aren’t you helping?” 

 

“I _am_ helping,” you say with a wave of the instructions for clarification, “plus, you’re here to work, not to question my authority.” 

You spit out that last sentence as haughtily as you can manage. 

 

“Whatever bro,” Kirsch replies with a knowing eye roll and a barely contained smile, "besides, I’m only here to visit because I just finished filming for my next team vid, not that I’m not willing to be your muscle for the weekend, of course.”

 

You scoff as he flexes his arms and strikes a few poses. 

 

“As if I need your help, beefcake. God, why are we even building this thing?” You whine petulantly.

 

At that, Laura decides to cut in. “What Carmilla _meant_ to say is thank you, she’s so grateful for your help that she’ll buy you a burrito and a six pack tonight,” Laura pivots on her heel so that she can face you, so you quickly school your ‘like fuck I am’ expression into one of cool attention, “and we’re building this ramp as a compromise, remember, Carm? No more skating inside now that you can actually do it outside?” 

 

You raise your eyebrows at her because, yeah, maybe you got so caught up in the construction that you actually kind of forgot why you were doing this. All of a sudden you’re excited again. 

 

“You’re right, cupcake, thank you. Now, let’s get back to work!” 

* * *

 

Around hour three of your instruction-reading gig you begin to get restless; your voice is hoarse and your throat is unbearably dry no matter how much you drink. To make matters worse, your throat is the only dry thing about you. 

 

For starters, it’s grossly hot and humid for a spring afternoon in fucking _Canada_ and your shirt is clinging to your stomach and back with sweat. 

You’re not even sure if you can complain about the heat though, because even though you’re sweating buckets, you still get to watch Laura get sweaty with power tools. 

Thank god for sports bras.

You think your leering must be blatant, but at this point you’re uncomfortably wet in more ways than one and you really have no inclination to keep reading instructions when you could be watching your super fit girlfriend bent over with a hammer.

 

“C’mon buttercup, harder! You need to _really_ put your back into it…” 

Your directions are more or less bullshit and you both know it, but based on the jerky little shiver you just watched run up her back, you’re pretty sure that she’s enjoying you being bossy just as much as you’re enjoying her little show of strength. 

 

You continue like this, twisting the actual instructions into innuendos and watching Laura blush, for another half hour or so. 

—

She walks over to you as she yells to Kirsch that she’s taking a quick break. 

 

“I’ve gotta say,” she begins, stretching her arms behind her back and more or less putting her chest in your direct line of sight, “I’m surprised to see _you_ enjoying being the dominant one… you know, after last weekend and all. 

 

If you thought you were wet an hour ago, you’re not even sure what you’d call yourself now. 

Drenched?

Slippery and uncomfortable? 

Either works. 

 

Laura smirks at the way your cheeks redden and your eyes glaze over, and you know there’s no way in hell that she doesn’t know exactly what you’re thinking about. 

 

“Remember?” She murmurs, trailing a finger back and forth across your collarbone to the hollow of your throat, “Remember how desperately you begged for me to fuck you? How I let you ride my fingers until you were clenching around them, but never let you finish? How, by the fourth time I’d gotten you _right_ to the edge, you were shivering and shaking so badly that you almost couldn’t open your mouth to ask for more?”

 

Laura’s voice had been getting softer and softer as she continued her trip down memory lane, and she was all but speaking directly against your lips. 

She lets both of her arms down, hands immediately moving to grip at your waist as she takes a step back from you. You’re not pleased with her sudden distance, but her words have put you back into that submissive frame of mind that she brings out of you sometimes, so you don’t voice your complaint.  

 

She clears her throat and takes another step back, hands leaving your hips to rest casually on her own. 

 

“So yeah,” she says, her tone suddenly much closer to ‘let’s talk about the weather’ than ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t see straight,’ “like I said, it’s an interesting change to watch the girl who begged me to tie her to the bed and sit on her face boss me around.” 

 

A small whine escapes your throat unbidden and the noise pulls a devilish grin from your deceptively naughty girlfriend.   

 

She quickly leans towards you and pulls you into a bruising kiss, but it only lasts for a second. 

She pulls away abruptly and can’t stop the way that you pout.

 

“Seriously, cupcake? That’s just cruel.” 

 

“Sorry Carm, I’ve gotta get back to work! Unlike you, the ramp won’t finish itself if I tell it to.”

 

You scoff and fight to keep a new blush from forming at her cheeky parting words. 

 

Slumping against the porch railing with a huff, you begin the painstaking process of trying to think away your arousal. You give up approximately five seconds in, because there’s no chance of you calming down anytime soon. 

 

You must be acting a little more obvious about your distressing level of horniness than you thought, because a few minutes into your thrilling game of ‘stare at the ground and try not to rub your thighs together’ you feel your phone vibrate with a text message. 

 

6:34 PM

**Cutie:** _stop squirming over there, I promise we can have some fun later ;)_

 

You drop your head into your hands and groan, hearing Laura laugh at you from the other side of the yard. 

‘Later’ can’t come fast enough.

* * *

When the skeleton frame of the ramp is done Kirsch decides to call it a day. 

 

“Alright little bro-hotties, that’s the bulk of the work out of the way. All we need to do is screw down the masonite—”

 

You go to interrupt and give an example of something else you’d like to screw down, but that ‘something else’ anticipates your move and cuts in before you can.

 

“Which we can totally do tomorrow morning, right Kirsch?” Laura chimes in peppily before glancing back at the soon-to-be halfpipe, “I think it looks pretty good so far, minus the mysterious, randomly occurring Carmilla-sized boot shaped hole in the sidewall…” 

Shit. 

 

“So!” you start, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders, “beer and burritos?” 

 

* * *

Yes, you had agreed to beer and burritos. 

You’d encouraged it, in fact.

 

However, you were under the impression that once dinner had been consumed you’d be done with socializing and free to go find out exactly what kind of ‘fun’ Laura had planned for tonight. 

 

You were wrong.

Of course you were wrong.

 

God, you’d even done the dishes without prompting because you thought it would lessen the time between now and orgasm. 

 

Your efforts were rewarded by a brief PG-13 kiss, and right then you’d thought that you were minutes away from finally being able to relieve the tension coiled in your belly. But then the kiss ended and Laura asked you to go get a deck of cards. 

 

Actually, what she said was far worse than a simple request to fetch some playing cards. 

 

She said, and you quote, “hey babe, could you grab the cards from the junk drawer and put them on the table? Kirsch is just grabbing his laptop to Skype Danny in so we can play poker! And look! He even brought chips, aren’t they so cool looking…” 

 

You’re sure she continued talking, but you stopped paying attention as soon as you heard of the torture in store for you. 

 

With more slamming and huffing than necessary, you managed to set out the cards and throw yourself dramatically into a chair at the table.   

When Kirsch stumbles into the room chatting away to his fucking computer you groan again, and when he sets said computer down across from you and you’re greeted with a big orange “Heya, Karnstein,” you drop your head onto the table and scream internally. 

\-------

Surprisingly, the game itself isn’t that unbearable, although you’d prefer not to be losing. 

You could think of ten thousand things you’d rather be doing, sure, the first being Laura, but at least you aren’t being forced to play Go Fish. 

Again. 

 

Regardless, the first hour and a half passes with minimal strain. But then Laura pours herself another beer.

There’s nothing wrong with that in theory, but the way she poured it left a liberal amount of foam sitting at the top of the glass. 

And she doesn’t wait for the foam to go down before taking a sip, leaving her with a bit of a mustache that she quickly licks off. As soon as you see her tongue dart out in the way it always does when she’s licking _you_ off her lips you know that you’re done for. 

 

You squirm in your chair and cross your legs, trying to mask the sharp breath you make with an unconvincing cough, which gets Kirsch’s attention. 

 

You’ve never been more thankful for his frat-bro tendencies though, because his concern is almost immediately drawn away from your flustered state and instead focused on the tragedy that is Laura's poorly poured pilsner.

 

“Dude! That’s a lot of foam!” Kirsch says obviously. 

 

You realize in slight horror that Kirsch’s statement garnered perfectly synchronized eyerolls from you and Danny, but say nothing as Laura tries to take another sip with the same results. 

 

She repeats that painfully arousing lip-licking action and you’re gripping the seat of your chair once more. 

 

“Wait up Squirtle,” you cringe at Kirsch using the nickname without knowing what he’s referencing, and see Laura cringe as well while Danny just looks immensely confused. “If the foam isn’t going down you just need stick your finger in it for a second!”

 

Laura seems to contemplate the directions before shrugging to herself and swirling her pointer finger through the foam. That in itself wouldn’t be a problem, but when she sucks that finger into her mouth to clean it you can’t help but make a little needy noise in the back of your throat. 

 

At this point you’ve more or less checked out of the current conversation happening around the table because holy fucking shit you’ve been turned on all goddamn day and your breaking point is getting worryingly nearer.  

 

With your eyes glued to Laura’s lips in a way that 100% lacks subtlety, you hear Danny’s tinny voice from across the table.

 

“Kirsch did you just call her Squirtle?” 

 

“Yeah!” he answers, nodding enthusiastically, “Carmilla calls her that and I think it’s funny,” 

 

“Alright I get that, but why the hell are you calling her that in the first place?” 

 

 _This_ manages to get your attention, and you perk up and get ready to share before you’re cut off, once again, by Laura.

 

“BECAUSE I’M SHORT!” 

 

You pout at her interference and Danny’s skeptical look suggests that she doesn’t buy her explanation. She _does_ seem to notice your obvious lack of attention though, and says the most magical words she could ever possibly say. 

 

“Whatever, Hollis. I think this game is over though, your girlfriend is too busy salivating over you to pay attention and I’m pretty sure you’ve been cheating for the last three rounds,” you laugh at the way that Danny continues to speak over Laura’s indignant ‘have not!’ “and I want to talk to my boyfriend alone, anyway. So goodnight all!” 

 

You give a small mental fist pump at the fact that you’ve finally been released, and simply point Kirsch down the hall towards the office-turned-guestroom. 

 

(When Laura asked you to set up a room for Kirsch two days ago you’d originally just laid some newspaper on the kitchen floor, which she didn’t find nearly as amusing as you did.)

 

Heading directly into your bedroom, you flop onto the mattress unceremoniously and wait for your girlfriend to join you. 

 

It takes a bit longer than you’d like though, so when she finally comes in ten minutes later she finds you laying on your stomach with your face smashed into her pillow. She sits down beside you, which earns her a grumpy ‘humph,’ and begins to rub at your shoulders until you unwind enough to roll over. 

 

You’ve got your head in her lap and your arms around her midsection when she starts to run her fingers through your hair.

 

“What’s wrong, babe?” 

 

You start with a wordless groan, readjusting your neck so that you can talk to Laura’s face rather than her bellybutton.

“I spent all day doing things that I’m bad at, and then you promised me that we’d have fun and used your sexy-voice, but then started up a card game instead, which, by the way, rude—”

 

You’re cut off midway through reciting your list of grievances by Laura’s lips pressing against yours, and when she pulls away you’re left silent. 

 

“I know I know, how _terribly_ rude of me to entertain our guest,” she says jokingly.

 

You laugh before replying, “Although I don’t appreciate your tone, I appreciate that you’ve come to see the error of your ways…” 

 

Pulling her back down to your lips using the collar of her shirt, you give her a long, deep kiss that perfectly states your intentions. 

 

“Seeing as you’ve been stuck doing things that you don’t exactly excel in, how about we do something that _I know_ you’re good at?”

 

Your instinctual response is to roll out of Laura’s lap onto your back and pull her on top of you, whispering a breathy ‘yes please’ against her neck as you grind your hips up against hers. 

 

She repositions herself so that one of her thighs is slotted between yours and allows you to guide her movements with your hands on her hips. 

You think that you’re humping up into her a little more desperately than you meant to because she breaks the kiss with a laugh. 

 

“God, you’re such a bottom…” 

 

“What? No! No I’m fucking not, I’m totally a top,” your argument is somewhat invalidated as you continue to rock up against her, though.

 

“Quit pouting, grumpy cat, you bottoming isn’t what I had in mind for tonight, anyway.”  

 

This news fixes your pout, not that you’d have actually been upset with bottoming, like ever, and you peck the cupcake on the lips happily. 

 

“Is that right, sweetheart? What exactly did you have in mind, then?” 

 

“Wait and see,” Laura says as she removes herself from on top of you and saunters to the far side of the room, shucking her clothes off as she goes. 

 

You sit up at the head of the bed, angling around for the best view as a now pants-free Laura bends over to reach something at the back of the closet. God, you could easily spend twenty hours a day just staring at her ass when she’s bent over like that.

Although the view would be infinitely better if she were to do it sans underwear. 

 

It’s like she’s read your thoughts as she, without straightening back up, mind you, uses one hand to clumsily pull her cotton briefs down her thighs, kicking them off once they’re low enough. 

 

She bends a little further, taking a small step forward as she continues to dig around various boxes and shelves. You gulp when you realize that she’s looking for your harness.

 

Fixing your slumped posture, you quickly yank your shirt and sports bra over your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.

 

“Y’know sundance, when you said that we could have some fun tonight I didn’t think it’d entail you getting back in the closet…” your voice is a little shakier than you’d have liked, but overall you think you’re doing a decent job at hiding how worked up you are. 

 

You have to close your eyes for a second when Laura walks back out, strap on in one hand and touching herself lightly with the other, wearing only a bra. She tosses the dildo and harness at you so she’s got a free hand to tug her bra off with, and then she’s standing at the side of the bed smirking at you. 

 

“Really Carm?” She starts, and you instinctively shuffle closer to her, sitting at the edge of the bed at her knees, “I’m an openly gay woman asking my girlfriend, who is also a woman, to fuck me with a strap on. Does anything about that seem closeted to you?” 

 

You really did plan on replying with something witty, but when Laura propped one knee on the mattress beside your legs, followed by the other so that you were framed between them, then pulled you forward by the chin until your lips were brushing against her nipples, that reply went out the window. 

 

Immediately you trace the puckered skin of her areola with the tip of your tongue, one hand gripping at her ass and the other gently twisting the nipple that isn’t in your mouth.  

 

“F-fuck, cupcake…” you don’t really know what that statement was meant to accomplish, but when you realized that the slight rhythmic brushing of her knuckles against you stomach was because she was still stroking herself you just felt compelled to say something. 

 

Her reply is a command for you to get naked, which you do eagerly. After throwing your shorts and boxer briefs across the room you dart back to your previous position and suck a dark mark into the side of her breast.

 

“Well, aren’t you eager?” 

 

“Don’t you dare make a joke about eager beavers—” you suck in a sharp breath as she pulls her hand away from where it’d been circling her clit and trails a wet stripe up your sternum before leading those fingers into your mouth. 

Fuck, you love the way she tastes.

 

Once you’ve cleaned her fingers, you grasp her ass cheeks and pull her down so she’s straddling you, her core tantalizingly close to your own.

 

“Plus, I’m about to fuck _the_ Laura Hollis with a fake cock, I’m allowed to be eager.”

 

With that, you’re reversing your positions, making yourself comfortable on top of her, thigh pressing up between her legs, and capturing her lips hungrily. 

 

When you move down Laura’s body and latch onto her neck you’re rewarded with a groan. 

A _loud_ groan. 

 

That’s when you remember that Kirsch is literally two rooms away. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

      

“Sweetheart, it seriously pains me to say this, but I’m not sure if sex is a great idea right now, I forgot that the fucking puppy is down the hall."

 

Laura grabs your ass and pulls you tighter to her, copying your earlier move and grinding herself hard against your thigh. 

And holy shit is she _soaked_. 

 

She might even be giving _you_ a run for your money right now. 

 

“He’s wearing stupidly big headphones to talk to Danny, babe. We’ll be fine—” you interrupt her with a high pitched sigh when she suddenly thrusts her own leg up between yours and angles your hips _just_ right. “plus,” she continues, “you’re so. fucking. wet.” 

She punctuates each word by guiding your hips to slide back and forth against her thigh and yeah, you just decided that you really don’t give a shit if Kirsch hears. 

 

“It’d be a shame to stop now, right Carm?” 

 

Laura’s already breathing hard into your neck while you do the same, tensing up and rutting forward repeatedly to keep the friction going between you.

 

“That’s true, creampuff, I should probably get a move on then, shouldn’t I?” 

 

Slithering down the bed, you leave a trail of kisses from her throat to her bellybutton, gently spreading her legs wider for better access.

 

“Mhm, I agrEE—” Laura slaps a hand over her mouth to silence her yelp. She clearly wasn’t anticipating your tongue against her clit so soon.

 

You feel her fingers quickly tangle into your hair and within seconds you’re being yanked up so your chin is resting on her mound. 

 

“What’s wrong buttercup? Want me to stop?” Your question is sincere, even though you know that she was just reacting to the sudden stimulation.

 

“No way, I was just startled! Get back to work, Karnstein.” 

 

With that she’s pushing you back down and positioning your head so that she can rock up into you.

 

“Mm—so…bossy…” you’re trying to compose a sentence in the small gaps where your mouth isn’t latched onto her, and you think that the gist is understood when you hear Laura chuckle breathlessly. 

Her response is to spread her legs wider to plant her feet on the mattress, hold your head in place, and grind up into your face. _Hard._

 

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy her using you like this, not that your moans wouldn’t have given you away, regardless. 

 _But,_ you were promised control tonight, and you’re not gonna let that opportunity slip by. 

 

It takes a fair bit of muscle to pin Laura’s hips to the bed and stop her from following your face as you sit up. 

 

You grin at the sight of her; slightly sweaty, out of breath, hair mussed up from where her own hands had been tangled, and an adorable little pissed off frown. 

 

“Carmmm—oh! Never mind!” 

 

You laugh at how quickly her tune changes when she notices that you’re reaching out for the harness.  

 

You sit back on your ass and take your time slipping each leg into the corresponding hole, enjoying the way that your girlfriend’s eyes are glued to the space between your thighs. 

Shifting so that you’re perched on your knees, you tug the harness up to mid-thigh and grab the lube, coating the wider end of the dildo that'll go inside you.

You keep eye contact with Laura as you push the toy through your folds a few times, biting your lip as you angle it up and let it stretch you open.

 

The familiar and oh so welcome feeling of the ridges settling inside of you makes your legs shake slightly, and when you’ve finally secured and tightened everything you give the shaft an experimental tug to make sure it’s in place. 

The way it shifts is _delicious,_ and you fall forward slightly, bracing yourself with a hand on Laura’s knee. 

 

Once you’ve righted yourself, you extend a hand and tug Laura forward while you sink back onto your haunches. She sits up and wraps her fingers around the cock, giving you a shy smile as she jerks you slowly, twisting her wrist to angle the section inside of you so that it presses against your spot repeatedly.

 

She continues like this, finding a steady rhythm of tugging and pushing it further into you, and you can’t help but let out a few moans as your eyes slip shut.

You whimper when her lips wrap around your nipple briefly, then she’s up on her knees too and whispering in your ear.

 

“Do you like that, Carmilla?” 

 

You can only nod and bite hard into your lip, Laura sucking a hickey into your breast happily while her hand picks up speed. 

 

Then you realize that, once again, you’re somehow not the one with the control. 

Time to change that, then.

 

Pulling her hand off of the shaft, you push her back by the shoulders lightly, guiding her until she’s flat on her back.  

 

Laura watches you with wide eyes as you shuffle forward and grab her hips, tugging her forward until the tip of your cock spreads her lips apart. 

 

“C-Carm…” 

 

She’s breathy with anticipation, squirming slightly to rub herself against the toy.

 

“Nuh-uh, cupcake.  _I’m_ the one who decides when you get fucked, alright?” 

 

“Alright, but could we maybe make that happen sooner rather than later?” Her voice is laced with slight annoyance and more than a touch of desperation and it makes you grin. 

 

Letting go of one of Laura’s hips, you steady the base of the shaft and nudge forward slowly, dragging the head up and down her slit and pushing into her entrance slightly each time you pass it.

 

You stare as she clenches and jerks into your touch, finally positioning the head where she wants it.

You push in slowly, watching the way her cunt stretches for you as you enter her. However, you never go further than the head, smirking to yourself as she attempts to rock forward and take you deeper.

 

You smile when Laura finally realizes that she isn’t getting anywhere with her writhing, pulling the shaft away from her completely because, honestly, you’re kind of a dick. 

 

“Seriously? Please babe just—”

 

You scoot back slightly as she speaks, dragging your fingers quickly through her folds and giving her a second to catch up with what’s happening before sinking two fingers inside of her; it’s an effective way of silencing her.

 

You hold her gaze for a beat, neither of you moving a muscle. In that silence you can hear the swooshing of the curtain at the open window, the creak of the bed springs as your combined weight settles, even fucking Kirsch yapping away to his computer screen. 

 

Laura opens her mouth, most likely preparing to say something along the lines of “why the fuck aren’t you moving you useless lesbian,” when you smirk at her and pull out. 

Then you line up your fingertips with her center and give her a shit-eating grin. 

 

She gasps sharply and throws her head back with a groan as you immediately pick up a punishing rhythm, driving into her just how she likes. 

 

You let her enjoy herself for a minute before you pull your fingers away and tug her hips back up until they’re cradled against yours. Moving one hand so that it’s more or less cupping her ass with your thumb at the crease of her thigh and the other holding the toy steady, you line up the tip and thrust into her. 

 

The relief is immediate for both of you, or at least it seems that way judging from Laura’s high-pitched moan and your embarrassingly loud gasp. 

 

You let her adjust to the size for a moment before you pull out and snap your hips forward, trying to maintain a smooth, steady pace even though you’d rather be fucking into her frantically because god, the way she tightens around the cock feels so _so_ good on your end. 

There’ll be time for that later, though. 

 

Keeping Laura’s hips still, you add some force to your movements and pick up a pattern, pulling out to the tip and pushing in to the base on each thrust.

Her eyes have rolled back in her head and her hands are gripping the sheets tightly, and you have to focus on the way her breasts bounce up with each thrust and the repetitive staccato whimpers she’s making so you don’t lose yourself to the pulsing feeling inside of you and come too quickly. 

 

You choke back a moan as you feel her walls tighten around you, making the pressure in your cunt multiply when you pick up the pace. 

 

“Oh my god Carm—”

 

You grit your teeth and slam forward once. twice. three times, Laura crying out with each thrust. You know she’s on the brink of coming, so you pull out. 

 

“Whatthefuckareyoudoing?” She cries, hips chasing yours.

 

You gulp in giant lungfuls of air before answering, “R-remember how you kept me on the edge last weekend?” you can see the ‘oh no you fucking don’t’ look in her eyes as she gets ready to give you an earful, “I won’t be that cruel, don’t worry, creampuff. I just thought you should get a quick taste of your own medicine… it’s only fair, righ—” 

 

Your teasing is cut short when the air is knocked from your lungs. Apparently Laura decided that it was _not_ , in fact, fair, because she’s thrown herself forward and reversed your positions, leaving you flat on your back with her straddling your hips.

 

In your slightly shocked state you fail to do anything when Laura starts to roll her hips back, attempting to get you back inside of her. The jolt that goes through your body when she manages to snag her opening on the head of the toy snaps you out of it though, and you quickly buck her off of you and scramble back onto your knees. 

 

“Really cupcake?” you ask, a mix of flustered and amused, “Weren’t you the one who wanted me to take control?” 

 

“When I said that, I thought there would be a lot more rough sex and a lot less teasing, though,” she whines, and you laugh lightly while guiding her up onto her hands and knees.

 

“Sorry love, you know I can’t help but tease,” you rasp this into her ear from your position bent over her back, smiling to yourself as you emphasize your statement by slipping a finger back inside of her. 

 

“Fuck! Carm,” Laura’s back arches when you pick up a leisurely paced pattern of pushing a finger in, curling it up, and rubbing the arousal-slick skin between her opening and her asshole when you pull back out. 

 

“What was that, sweetheart?” You keep your voice steady somehow, even though you nearly go slack jawed when you begin jerking yourself to keep the toy from going uncomfortably still.

 

“Carmilla, please!” She whisper shouts, wiggling her hips back to try and speed things along. 

  

You love seeing her like this, desperate and begging. You know that Laura isn’t accustomed to being in this position. 

(Not ‘position’ like on her hands and knees, though, you’ve learned she fucking loves it from behind.)

‘Position’ as in being vulnerable; she has no issues with begging and demanding if she’s the one who’s orchestrated the situation, but she’s told you that it’s a different kind of rush when she doesn’t know what’s gonna happen next.  

 

“How did you say you wanted it, babe? _Rough_ , I think, was the word you used…” you add another finger to the first, pushing deeper, and watch the way her back muscles shift as she grabs at the comforter that’d been kicked to the foot of the bed, looking for something she can grip tight. 

 

“Well,” you continue, not waiting for a response, “I’d hate to disappoint.” 

 

With that, you give her one more deep thrust, scissoring your fingers inside of her to make sure that what you do next isn’t uncomfortable. She’s crying out in protest when you pull out of her, and crying out for an entirely different reason when you line up the head of the cock with her opening and crack your hips forward. 

 

You start hard and only get harder, absolutely adoring the way that your girlfriend has turned her head into her shoulder, using her shaky arms to try and muffle the constant ‘yes’s and ‘fuck’s pouring out of her mouth. Pausing for a second, you scooch your knees forward so the back of her thighs are against the front of yours, fingers leaving half-moon shaped indents on her hips as you stare down at the place where your mound meets her ass. 

She’s so fucking lovely you can’t breathe sometimes.

 

You start moving again, watching the way your shaft disappears inside of her only to come back out shinier than before. The sight has you biting your lip and clenching your inner muscles, trying desperately not to come. 

 

“Fuckfuckfuck— Carm…” 

Laura’s voice is small and gasping, and a moment later you have to let out a guttural moan because fuck she’s tightening up again and the pressure inside you from the added resistance is almost too much. 

 

Her arms give out soon after, and you’ve never seen her look more gorgeous than this.

Ass raised and reddened as you drill into her pussy, back shiny with sweat and rippling as her muscles contort, shoulders tense and taut… she’s got one arm outstretched, gripping the old wooden panel at the foot of the bed, and the other bent beneath her, working as a pillow. Her hair is wild and strands are plastered across her cheek and forehead, face beautifully flushed and eyebrows pinched in what appears to be awe but you think might very well be bliss. Her eyes, wide open but glossy and unseeing, stare off at the wall while her mouth is open and gasping in deep breaths between garbled demands and pleas. 

 

You’re close, so fucking close to coming, but you need to see your girl through her own climax first, you’d never forgive yourself if you were too blissed out to fully witness and experience her breaking apart beneath you. 

You’re not sure if you can hold it for much longer, though. 

So you pick up the pace, holding her hips still and hunching over her back so you can slam into her faster. There’s nothing dignified about the position you’re in or the loud clapping of skin meeting skin as you hump into her frantically, hips never separating more that an inch or two. 

 

You think the bed is shaking with the force of your movements, and when you feel Laura tighten to the point where you know she’s a minute away from exploding you speed up, moving entirely on adrenaline and instinct and the animalistic need to make her come. 

The arm that Laura’s head had been resting on straightens and sweeps forward, loudly knocking the plastic bottle of lube off of the bed in its journey to grasp the alarmingly shaky footboard alongside her other arm. 

 

Her head drops down between her spread arms and you watch as her body jolts forward with each of your thrusts. She’s so tight that you’re almost unable to pull out, so your previously smooth movements have turned into a pattern of rough, bruise-inducing, frenzied humping and oh god you’re gonna come. 

 

With one particularly hard thrust Laura lets out a noise somewhere between a sob and a groan and her arms tense and straighten completely, distributing her weight unevenly between her hips that you’re gripping with your hands, where you’re connected at the groin, and the footboard. 

 

“Carmohfuckimgonna—”

 

Laura tenses, and it takes a second to realize that it isn’t because she’s coming, but because the fucking footboard just cracked in half when she placed a hand on the bed to steady herself. Which makes sense as far as the origin of that earsplitting cracking noise just was.

 

You’re frozen between the the urge to pull out and make sure that Laura is alright or keep going and just say fuck it because jesus it’s like you’re vibrating with the need to let go.

 

Your hips freeze in your indecision. 

 

“Baby—fuck please, keepgoingplease!” 

 

Well. That settles that.

 

Immediately you begin to piston inside of her again and oh god, she’s about to come and you can feel it and you think you might just die if you don’t follow her. 

 

Which is when your bedroom door slams open with a concerning amount of force, making a noise that doesn’t bode well for the state of the drywall that it hits. 

 

Laura yelps and you look up to find Kirsch, enormous headphones around his neck and a truly horrified look on his face. 

 

You haven’t stopped plowing into her though, and apparently stimulation can overpower intense awkwardness because the moment Kirsch lets out an incredibly unmanly squeak and slaps his hands over his eyes is the same moment Laura gets so tight that she nearly pulls the toy from you when you rock your hips back, and fuck if that isn’t the sensation that’s about to send you over the edge.

 

“Ohmigodareyoufuckingseri-OUS! CARM!” Laura’s screaming her release at the same time that you’re finally gathering your wits enough to shout “PUPPY.GETOUT.RIGHTNOW.” between harsh thrusts as you toss your head back and let out a not so silent moan at the feeling of Laura pulsing around you.   

 

Your eyes are closed as you come, hips frantically bucking into Laura and crying out with an embarrassingly high, broken voice. 

 

When you’re able to open your eyes again half a minute later, you see that the bedroom door is closed and frat-boy-free. Laura collapses onto the bed, taking you down with her as you roll your hips against her ass and feel her shake her way into another far smaller orgasm. With a few more lazy humping movements you follow her lead, shuddering as you clench around the toy inside of you and nearly push it out with the strength of your muscle contractions and the small flow of wetness that spills from you. 

 

Laura’s breathing hard, crumpled haphazardly on the mattress, as you pull out of her— earning a high pitched whine— and remove the harness from yourself. Her shoulders are hitching up and down and for a split second you think she might be crying. 

 

Using the last bit of strength that you have, you push at her shoulders and roll her onto her back, out of the wet spot you two left. 

 

She’s laughing. Like, tears in her eyes, gasping for breath, laughing. 

 

“D-d-did you s-see his face?!” 

 

The moment is so absurd and unexpected that you can’t help but giggle, which soon turns into full-blown laughter, tears and all. 

* * *

You’re flipping the last pancake out of the frying pan and onto Laura’s plate when you hear Kirsch finally coming out of the guest room.

 

“Mornin’ puppy, pancakes?” you greet him nonchalantly and gesture with your spatula towards the plate that you’d made for him.

 

Kirsch’s approach is slow and mildly suspicious, like he’s waiting to be scolded for barging in last night, but still _really_ wants pancakes.

 

“U-uh yeah— that’d be cool, thanks bro…” 

He takes the plate from the counter and places it on the coffee table, hesitating over where he should sit and eventually settling onto the couch gingerly, as far away from you and Laura as physically possible. 

 

Dropping the frying pan into the sink for future Carmilla to deal with, you carry yours and Laura’s plates to the coffee table as well, setting them down and giving your girlfriend a kiss on the cheek before you slump into the armchair beside the couch. 

 

Kirsch immediately starts shoveling the pancakes into his mouth, making it conveniently impossible for him to hold a conversation, and stares down at the table like there’s a picture of Danny naked on it.

Which, ew. 

You share a look with Laura, and she’s trying not to giggle at the blush steadily rising up your best friend’s neck. 

 

Because you find his awkwardness entertaining, you let the uncomfortable silence drag on and try not to smirk at the fact that his ears are officially bright red. 

Laura repeatedly gives you a pointed look, bugging her eyes and nodding towards Kirsch before looking back at you with that classic Hollis subtlety. 

 

In response, you just settle further into your chair and take another slow bite of your pancakes, not bothering to mask your amused grin as the tense quiet stretches on.

So yeah, you’re kind of a dick, but what else is new? 

 

“Alright Carm I’m putting him out of his misery,” Laura’s voice startles Kirsch and he starts choking on his breakfast, cowering away from you when you raise a hand to pat him on the back. 

 

“Oh for god’s—Kirsch, I’m not gonna fucking hit you!”

 

His knee-jerk response is to raise his hands up, scrunch his eyes closed, and shout “I’M SORRY I SAW YOU BONING SQUIRTLE PLEASE DON’T KILL ME.” 

 

Laura grimaces, at his volume or at being called Squirtle again, you’re not sure, while you just roll your eyes. 

 

“Get a hold of yourself, jackass, we’re not gonna kill you,” you’re not even trying to hide your exasperation at this point, so Laura, always (usually) the sensible one, interrupts you. 

 

“What Carm is trying to say is that it’s fine, and we’re not mad at you, Kirsch. Would I prefer that it not have happened? Well, yeah. But we’re all adults here, so we can just move on with our lives and pretend last night didn’t happen!” 

 

You snort into your breakfast, “Speak for yourself, cupcake, I, for one, plan to _cherish_ those memories. I’ll probably gloss over the part where the beefcake makes an appearance though because, no offense Kirsch, I don’t want to ruin quality spank-bank material.” 

 

“None taken, Carmsexy!” 

 

You give a now red-faced Laura your most infuriating smug smirk as Kirsch lets out a little giggle.

 

You share a small stare-down with your girlfriend before she throws her head back with an annoyed groan. 

 

“You two are children, honestly—”

 

“I don’t think a child should ever do what I was doing last night, cutie, but whatever, your loose morals are none of my business—”

 

“Carm, seriously? Gross!” 

 

“You’re the one who said it in the first pla—”

 

“That’s it, new rule. Silent breakfast, effective immediately.” 

 

You shrug and blow a kiss to a now _very red_ Laura before slumping into your chair and grabbing the newspaper, Kirsch still pivoting his head between the two of you like he’s watching a tennis match. 

 

After five or so minutes of silence Laura finally breaks.

 

“I can’t believe we need to fix the wall _and_ get a new baseboard.” 

 

You open your mouth to reply, but Kirsch gets there first. 

 

“Well I _totally_ can, little nerd, and I really wish I couldn’t.”    

 

“Kirsch?” you ask innocently. 

 

“Yeah bro?” 

 

“Stop talking.” 

 

“Okay!"

 

 

 


End file.
